


Hell Hath No Fury

by TCRegan



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Adultery, Angst, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:59:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 27,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1670537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke's somewhat normal, routine life in Kirkwall is upset when a figure from his past seeks him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as always, to my lovely girlfriend theangrywarlock. I love you, darling. I appreciate your help with this and all the others.
> 
> Additional thanks to Queenoftheswarm who helped to keep me sane during the work shifts in which I wrote the majority of this story.
> 
> Should be noted to those who regularly read my stuff, I'm posting this up and it's not quite finished yet :X So updates will come slower than normal, but I'm committed to finishing this. It should be up within two weeks. If not, feel free to toss me in the nearest Circle for my transgressions <3

"Here's to Hawke, the finest human I've ever known, with no offense to the others present," Varric said graciously, lifting his wine glass. "You are one crazy son of a bitch. Uh. With no offense to the dear, departed Leandra."

"Well that's quite enough," Isabela said quickly, wrapping an arm around Varric's shoulders and pulling him away from the table.

They'd all been in various states of drunkenness for Hawke's thirtieth name-day. Hawke, who'd never had such an extravagant party before for any celebration in his life, was just pleased they were all together, laughing, getting along. Even Fenris and Anders had shelved their differences for the evening. Varric rented out the whole of the Hanged Man for the night, hiring a couple of bards to sing tales based on his adventures, greatly inflating the Champion of Kirkwall's good deeds.

"They could have left out the part about my saving the kittens from the burning building. It wasn't even on fire," Hawke slurred.

He'd lost count of how many bottles of wine he'd shared with Anders and was sitting with him in the corner while his friends talked and laughed and even danced. Varric had truly spared no expense with the food and the drink and the entertainment, hiring a few workers from the Rose as well, and Hawke was fairly sure he'd seen a couple of his friends slip upstairs with them. Not that he minded. He didn't need anyone but Anders, who was still unfortunately sober but putting up with his wandering, drunken hands without complaint.

"No, but it was full of smoke and you could have been seriously injured. Besides," Anders added, patiently removing Hawke's hand from his crotch, "you deserve the accolades."

"I do! Because I'm the Champion."

He leaned in for a kiss and Anders obliged. In his inebriated state, all Hawke wanted was Anders. His name-day was also their first year anniversary. A crazy, insane year full of blood mages and Qunari and death. And Hawke was convinced that if he hadn't had Anders by his side during it, he would have likely gone insane. He was pulling Anders toward him, gripping the mage's shirt, grateful he'd left his coat off for the evening.

"Hawke-"Anders gasped, breaking off. "What-"

"Want you."

Hawke was physically stronger, wielding sword and shield nearly every day to either fight giant spiders or bandits, or even to spar with Fenris or Aveline. Anders, though taller, was slimmer and he lost the struggle quickly as Hawke pulled him over onto his lap. He straddled Hawke's thighs, hands on his shoulders, glaring half-heartedly at him.

"We're in public."

"So they get a show," Hawke muttered, trying to kiss him.

Anders dodged playfully for a few seconds, then pressed Hawke back against the wall, kissing him soundly. Hawke pulled him close, hands gripping his bottom tightly, bringing their hips together. He moaned into Anders' mouth, getting hard despite his inebriation. Anders threaded his fingers into Hawke's hair, holding him gently, and rolled his hips forward. Hawke broke off with a gasp.

"Oh Maker. Anders. I need you now. Right now. Please? It's my name-day," he reminded him.

Anders laughed. "Don't pout."

He glanced over his shoulder to see where everyone was. Isabela had taken Varric to the bar where Corff was serving Aveline as well as quite a few of her guards that Hawke was friendly with. Members of the Coterie, invited by Varric, and some of the Red Iron that Hawke used to run with milled about, listening to the bards play their instruments and sing. Most were watching the three Rose workers dance on a long golden pole Corff agreed to have installed just for the night.

"I'm not pouting," Hawke insisted.

Anders kissed him again, hands sliding down his chest, over the fine linen shirt, and deftly untucked it. It was only when he'd finished untying Hawke's pants that Hawke realized what was happening.

"Oh," Hawke breathed, hands falling to Anders' thighs. "Happy name-day to me?"

Anders moved back, slipping from his lap, not wanting to think about what he was kneeling in, tucking himself neatly under the table. "Yes, indeed," he said, smiling.

Hawke groaned as Anders licked up his hardening shaft, and had the presence of mind to lean forward, hiding his lover from view completely, should someone come to give him well wishes. Anders felt the hand on his head and didn't mind it as it stroked and caressed his hair, fingers playing with his ear, pulling slightly when he did something Hawke particularly liked. In bed, Anders was in charge. Hawke was horribly inexperienced, and he'd wasted no time teaching him all manner of things over the last year. Hands on Hawke's knees, he took a breath and swallowed. Lips tucked carefully over his teeth, he took in Hawke's entire length, trying to swallow again to keep from drooling. The hand in his hair moved to his shoulder and gripped painfully. He would have laughed had he been capable. Hawke was close.

"Happy name-day, Hawke. It's quite a celebration."

"Nnhuh."

Anders pulled back, swallowing, reaching up to wipe away the saliva that dribbled down his chin. Sebastian Vael for some reason had made it on the guest list, and had come to chat with the man of the hour. Had Hawke been completely sober, Anders knew he would have been able to keep a straight face. After all, they managed through some very boring parties and dinners by trying to get one another off under the tables or in a discreet corner. Hawke could be silent when he wanted to. But he was very drunk now, and not entirely in control.

"Not that I'm one to begrudge a man such simple pleasures on his name-day…"

"Hngh?"

Anders smirked when he heard Hawke gasp, pulling back to lap gently at the tip of his cock. Very, very carefully he drew his teeth softly over the head, and Hawke's legs spread, a fist coming down to knock on the table.

"Are… are you quite well, Hawke? Would you like me to get you a glass of water or-?"

"No! No water," Hawke managed, reaching a hand down to grab Anders' hair.

Anders winced as Hawke tugged, pulling painfully at the strands as he guided him close. He took the hint, opening his mouth again, his own hand joining his lips as he suckled and stroked. Hawke raised a foot only to slam it onto the floor, and Anders heard Sebastian once again.

"Do you… need anything?"

There was a moment quiet, heavy breathing, and Anders wondered what Hawke looked like to Sebastian. Perhaps he thought Hawke was having a heart attack, face turning red and sweaty as Anders continued to suck him off. He knew Hawke was close, felt him tense up, and heard the grunt as his mouth filled with the salty fluid. He swallowed and sucked gently before pulling back.

"I'm… fine," Hawke groaned.

Anders wiped his mouth and emerged, turning to see the shocked, scandalized look on Sebastian's face. "He's fine, Sebastian," he said, pointedly licking his lips before wiping his mouth again. "But I could use that glass of water."

Sebastian sputtered and excused himself quickly, causing Hawke to laugh uproariously. Anders grinned, leaning over to do up his lover's pants, lest Hawke decide to stand and flash the whole of the Hanged Man. Drunk as he was, he would do it too.

"I'm surprised you're not upset at that," Anders said, taking a few sips from Hawke's wine glass.

"At… a… what?" Hawke asked, glancing at him, glassy-eyed.

"I'm sure it'll come to you when you sober up. I shall expect a proper tongue-lashing then."

"I can do more than that with my tongue!" Hawke assured him, and kissed him sloppily.

Anders laughed but returned it, and pulled him to his feet. "Let's go home."

"No more party?"

"The party will continue at home," Anders insisted, shouldering his staff.

"Hawke!" Varric called from the bar.

Hawke waved enthusiastically at him. "Can't talk, Varric! I need to give Anders a tongue-lashing!"

Anders pinched the bridge of his nose, laughing. Even if Varric did remember this night, the chances he'd put such a thing into his novels was slim. Or so he hoped. Taking Hawke by the arm, he led him out into the cool evening air of Lowtown, where the usual inhabitants of the Hanged Man had found other establishments. Keeping one hand on Hawke and the other free just in case the nighttime gangs decided to attack, he guided Hawke up to Hightown. While dozens of people still milled around in Lowtown, up here the streets were empty aside from a few guards on duty. No respectable noble would be seen stumbling home drunk after a party.

And as Anders helped Hawke into the Amell estate, trying to avoid the man's roving hands as he unlocked the door, he was very glad that Hawke was far from respectable.


	2. Chapter 2

"I don't deserve you."

Anders sighed, hand on Hawke's forehead, letting a wash of blue light sink delicately into his skin. He'd been prepared for Hawke's hangover, fetching him water and a potion, but Hawke insisted he heal it with magic. Anders knew he shouldn't oblige him, that Hawke needed to learn his lesson on overindulging. But, he reasoned, that might have been Justice's feelings on the subject. After all, how many times had Anders personally thanked the Maker for his magic, and promised never to drink again after a late night with the other Wardens? Of course he broke his promise every time except the last. Perhaps Justice's forced sobriety was his penance for lying to the Maker for years.

"Better?" he asked, leaning down to kiss Hawke's brow.

"Mm. Think I'll sleep in though," he said, pulling the covers back up. "You should come to bed."

He fought to keep the exasperation from his voice. "It's nearly noon, Hawke."

"So?"

Anders opened the armoire and started to dress, tossing the dirty clothes from last night into a pile for Orana to deal with. Before moving in with Hawke, he'd washed his own things in a basin in the clinic and hung them to dry. Having someone else do his laundry, and so expertly, took some getting used to. But, as he pulled on a soft shirt instead of a scratchy, stained one, he consoled himself with the fact that Hawke _paid_ Orana, even if she didn't use any of her earnings.

"So I have to attend to my clinic. We can't all be rich playboys who idle around all day." He poked at the lump in the bed roughly where Hawke's hip was.

A grunt and the covers shifted, and Hawke emerged. "You've made your point, O wise and formidable healer. Go save lives."

Hawke's hand darted out from under the covers, faster than it had any right to, considering how rundown he'd been feeling seconds ago, and smacked Anders squarely on the ass. He jumped and batted his hand away, scowling as he grabbed his staff and bag.

"I'll be back for supper tonight."

"Kiss," Hawke ordered.

Anders leaned down to oblige him yet again, and allowed Hawke to pull him close, arms wrapping around him tightly. He winced at the stale ale flavor of Hawke's mouth, laughing as he was pulled even further into bed, and pushed at him.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?" Hawke asked, starting to nuzzle his cheek.

Anders pushed him back, sitting up, straddling his waist. "Stop trying to get me back into bed with you."

"You already are in bed with me," Hawke pointed out. "You might as well stay."

Anders rolled his eyes and slid off him, leaning down once more to kiss him. "Go thank Varric for your name-day party. I'll be home tonight."

Before Hawke could protest or yank him back into bed, Anders departed, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. He thanked Orana who'd packed him a lunch, and took the stairs down to the basement. He was slightly relieved to see that the doorstep of his clinic was empty. Too often did he arrive just in time to heal an emergency, and with the odd hours he kept now, he knew it was difficult for those in need to find him. Then again, he didn't make it a secret that he was with Hawke, and had in fact treated a handful of patients in the front room of the Amell estate.

He spent the morning reorganizing his ingredients, marking his list of things to collect the next time Hawke had them traipsing up the countryside. With Justice's insistence he worked on his manifesto, scratching out lines from the previous day, adding a paragraph here or rearranging a sentence there. He planned to submit it once more to the Grand Cleric, to get her to see the mages' point of view, to open her eyes to their suffering now under Meredith's yoke. A part of him knew it was useless, but he had to try.

As the afternoon dragged on, he saw no more than a handful of patients: miners with sprains or broken bones, or worried mothers whose child had a cough. The work was tiresome but rewarding, and at the end of the day he felt fulfilled, as if he was doing some good in this cesspit of a city, despite being blocked at every turn. He straightened up the clinic, locking it behind him as he walked up the basement steps, feeling exhausted but happy, looking forward to dinner and a long hot bath with Hawke.

Bodahn directed him to the library when he asked where Hawke was, and Anders trudged forward, stopping just outside when he heard voices. He could make out Hawke's low, rumbling timbre, but the woman's voice was unfamiliar to him, and had a very slight Orlesian lilt to it. Who did they know who was Orlesian that would be visiting at this hour? With a frown, he pushed the half-open door all the way and stepped inside. Hawke was sitting in his usual armchair, a glass of wine in hand, looking uncomfortable. Across from him on the sofa was a pretty woman with long brown hair braided down her back. Her eyes were bright and expressive, and when she smiled at him, it felt genuine. Her lips were a bit too pink, her cheeks brushed with the barest of rouge. And though he'd pegged her as Orlesian from the accent, the dress she wore was modest, befitting a lower noblewoman of Kirkwall rather than anything overly ornate as he'd come to associate with Orlesians.

"Anders," Hawke said quietly. "You're home."

"Sorry to interrupt…" Anders started, trying to sound apologetic. From Hawke's tone, he somehow surmised that his earlier wishes of supper and a bath were about to be dashed. Another errand they would have to attend to? A stolen baby, perhaps? A dog fell down a well? A piece of jewelry they needed to retrieve from some ghast-infested cave?

"Anders, this is Brigitte."

"Nice to meet-"

"My wife."

"-you. What?"

Brigitte stood, curtsying. But Anders hardly had time to process her perfect form. Jaw dropped, he looked to Hawke once again for clarification.

"You should sit down," Hawke said, not looking him in the eye. "And… I'll try to explain."


	3. Chapter 3

Bodahn brought him a glass of brandy. For that, Anders was extremely grateful. He managed to keep his hand from shaking as he sat, sipping it slowly, letting the liquid wash away the icy feeling that took up residence in the pit of his stomach. Hawke wasn't looking at him, nor at Brigitte, who was sitting with her hands in her lap. Anders glanced from him to her and back, and a thousand thoughts ran through his head.

_Hawke's wife. His wife. A woman he married. Is still married to. What does that mean? What does it mean for us? What else is Hawke hiding?_

He pushed away the paranoia. Not that Anders had divulged all of his past to his lover, but something like this was hard to overlook. He cradled the snifter in his hands, running a thumb over the rim, frowning. Hawke cleared his throat and drained his wine glass, Bodahn there to refill it. Anders wondered how many he'd had tonight, and signaled to Bodahn to stop. Hawke's way of coping with difficult things was either to hit them very hard with his sword, or to drink himself to oblivion. Neither was healthy, and this was a situation where Anders dearly hoped nothing would need hitting.

"Brigitte and I were married shortly after I entered King Cailan's service. I was an officer in his army."

Anders' frown deepened. "I didn't know you were an officer."

Hawke shook his head. "I wasn't very high-ranking. But it was suggested that those of us who weren't married look to make…" He glanced at Brigitte warily, as if he was afraid of offending her.

"It was arranged," she said delicately.

Anders relaxed a little at that. Orlesian-Ferelden relationships were strained. It made sense that Cailan would marry his officers to Orlesian nobles to improve the ties between the two countries. But now Cailan was dead and his brother sat the throne. Hawke could get an annulment and if he felt guilty or responsible – and knowing Hawke as Anders did, he would – he could give Brigitte the money necessary to send her back to Orlais to her family. It would be a simple fix, right?

"I thought she died in the Blight," Hawke whispered, still not looking at either of them.

"I thought the same," she admitted, smiling sadly. "I was in Redcliffe when we received the news about your mama… Garrett, I am so sorry about Leandra."

Anders flinched at the use of Hawke's given name. Only Bethany called him that, and they hadn't seen her in some time, locked in the Gallows as she was now. And the last person who tried to talk to Hawke about Leandra ended up with a broken nose. But Hawke's reaction was subtle. Anders watched his shoulders slump, saw the glass of wine tilt ever so slightly. He cleared his throat and turned to Brigitte.

"Well, we certainly appreciate you stopping by, and-"

Brigitte turned to look at Anders, head slightly tilted. "I am sorry… Garrett has never mentioned you before."

"Well, I'm sure he hasn't mentioned a lot of friends he's made recently," Anders said, trying not to bristle at the implications.

"So you are a recent friend?"

Anders took a sip of brandy before setting it down and sitting back in his chair, crossing his legs. "We've been lovers for a year now," he said, slightly irritated that Hawke wasn't speaking up. He glanced at Hawke to gauge his reaction.

But Hawke had barely moved, eyes trained on the carpet. Brigitte's pink lips thinned, and she unfolded her hands, smoothing her dress before clearing her throat.

"I thought you were dead," Hawke reiterated quietly. "I had no way of knowing…"

"I see."

Anders looked from her to Hawke, then back again. "Hawke and I need to discuss a few things. If you wouldn't mind coming back tomorrow-"

"She's going to stay here," Hawke said, frowning, but not meeting Anders' eye.

Anders pursed his lips together tightly. He tried not to let his jealousy and anger overcome him, the ache in his chest becoming overwhelming. And at the very back of his mind he felt Justice's irritation. Sleep and food were necessary, the spirit eventually came to understand that. But this was a distraction, something that was derailing them from their cause. But he was still human, with human emotions. Try as he might, he couldn't stop himself from the jealous feelings.

"I'll be up to bed after supper and a bath then," Anders said, standing.

Hawke reacted then, standing as well, reaching out to touch his arm. "Anders…"

"Take your time, Hawke. And come to bed when you're able." He hesitated, but leaned over and kissed Hawke on the cheek before departing.

His head was reeling, his heart heavy. When he agreed to be with Hawke, he knew it was going to be difficult, that their relationship would take a lot of work. Hawke seemed to understand that the struggle for mage rights was first and foremost. He took all of Anders' quirks in stride. He had abandonment issues, he was overly clingy, he got jealous easily. But mostly he kept his feelings in check, and Hawke would hold him every night and reassure him that he, Anders, was the only one for him. Some foolish part of him had even hoped for a family in the future, though he knew how impossible that would be. And now this woman from Hawke's past threatened to take it all away from him. And the worst part of it was, Anders was almost tempted to let her.

After all, wouldn't Hawke be happier?

He stripped and settled into the bath that Orana had drawn, heating up the water with a simple spell. Brigitte, he thought as he scrubbed the day from his skin, was very pretty. She seemed nice and polite, and she wasn't a mage. She was someone Hawke could have children with. And by law, she was his and he hers. Anders had no claim to stake when it came to Hawke. And how ridiculous was it that he was thinking of Hawke in such a way? Like the man was property without feelings. He would ease the burden from his lover's shoulders. He would pack tonight and leave in the morning. After all, he'd spent years living in his clinic and he could do it again. His patients would appreciate his attentiveness and certainly Justice would be pleased.

It had just been a lovely distraction, he thought as he dragged a washcloth dejectedly over his arms and legs. A fun game to play at like always. The pain in his chest doubled and he felt his heart constrict, a cruel hand of fate crushing it neatly in its grip. He covered his face, leaning forward in the tub, knees drawn to his chest. He'd lost this game before with Karl. He should have been more careful, knowing that he would never find peace for long. He was a mage, an apostate. And out from under the Champion's favor, he would be even more exposed than he already was.

Taking a breath, he wiped tears from his cheeks and climbed out of the tub to dry off and dress. He didn't want to be in the estate right now, didn't want to think about Hawke and his wife sitting downstairs drinking wine, catching up. It made him feel like a third wheel, and he hated the ugly, jealous feelings swirling in his stomach. He needed to get out.

Wrapping himself in a cloak and hood, he took up his staff, gave Bodahn a message should Hawke come looking for him, and left the estate for the direction of Lowtown.


	4. Chapter 4

Anders found himself sitting at Varric's table in his suite in the Hanged Man. The door that was normally open was closed now for privacy, Norah having brought up a cheese plate and two bowls of soup. Varric gossiped idly as they ate, and Anders was glad he didn't have to explain his appearance. When their plates were empty and Anders had sipped the last of the soup from the bowl, Varric finally sat back and gestured knowingly.

"So. Talk."

Over the years, Anders had gotten used to his friend's mannerisms. Varric somehow always seemed just to _know_ what they needed, like a mother hen or a favorite uncle who carried sweets in his pockets. And Anders definitely needed someone like that now. There were so few people he trusted in this city, and he doubted either Selby or Lirene would care to hear about his relationship woes. Varric would listen without judgment. Most of the time, anyway.

"When I came home, there was a woman," he started carefully.

Varric raised an eyebrow, a look of surprise on his face. Whatever Anders had wanted to talk about, he obviously hadn't anticipated this. "He didn't-"

Anders shook his head. "No. He didn't cheat. It wasn't like that. She…"

Varric waited, fingers laced together over his stomach as he watched Anders struggle for the words.

"She's his wife."

Both eyebrows went up this time, and Anders saw Varric's hand twitch, as if it longed to go for a quill while he demanded the juicy details. As much as Anders adored Varric, he never understood how a dwarf could be such a busybody. He'd never met anyone quite like Varric before.

"And I take it you three didn't sit down and have a lovely conversation about the weather in Kirkwall this time of year?"

Anders shook his head. "Apparently Hawke was an officer in King Cailan's army. It was an arranged marriage to strengthen ties with Orlais."

"He's married to an Orlesian? Poor guy. Sorry," he added as Anders looked at him incredulously. "All right, so that makes it easy then. There's no more need for him to stay married to her because he's no longer in the army and all's well that ends well."

"I don't think it's that easy, Varric."

"And why not?" Varric asked, gesturing. "Knowing Hawke, he'll pay her travel expenses, maybe even buy her a small apartment in Orlais, set her up for a while until she can find another husband. Where's she been these last few years anyway?"

"Redcliffe, apparently. It's in the south. It's one of the cities that wasn't wholly affected by the Blight. They both thought the other was dead."

"Reasonable," Varric said, nodding slightly, lips pursed. "And yet you're here and not with him. So there's another issue, obviously."

Anders frowned, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He sighed, trying to think of how to state his concerns without sounding insane. "What if he wants to stay with her?"

Varric gaped at him. "What? Oh, you're joking, right? Because for a brief second, I swore you were serious. As if you don't remember Hawke mooning over you for the last couple of years, trying to get you to pay attention to him. See, the rest of us remember it, Blondie, because we had to listen to him bitch and moan about how you wouldn't give him a second look. And then-" Varric said, cutting him off as he was about to say something, "when you finally agreed, we remember how he wouldn't shut up about how happy you make him. It's really, really disgusting the way some humans go on and on and-"

"Varric!"

Varric smirked. "All I'm saying is that Hawke wouldn't toss you by the wayside for some Orlesian tart just because they happened to say a couple of vows. Words are powerful, Blondie, but not that powerful."

Anders huffed, blowing a bit of air through his bangs. "But… What if he loves her?"

"What if he does? What if Meredith frees all the mages in the Gallows tomorrow? Or if Choir Boy suddenly decides that Chantry life is boring and reverts to his old ways? Or if pigs fly? Hawke loves _you_. And I can't believe that I'm sitting here trying to reassure you of this when I should be spreading the rumor that Hawke has an Orlesian wife…"

The look Anders gave him turned to an icy glare, and Varric put his hands up in surrender.

"What should I do?"

Varric pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed, and leaned forward before looking at him in the eye. "Don't make any rash decisions without talking to Hawke first. It takes two to be in a relationship. Or you know. Three in your case with Justice. How is old sparky taking this anyway?"

"He's not." Anders touched his chest where he could feel the stirrings of irritation, feelings he knew that weren't his. "He's frustrated that we're distracted."

"…Creeps me out when you speak about him that way."

"What way?"

" _We're_ distracted."

Anders frowned. "Justice and I are one. It's the proper pronoun use."

Varric shrugged, drumming his fingertips on the tabletop. "Well?"

"I suppose I have no choice," Anders said, somewhat defeated.

"Nonsense, Blondie. You have a lot of choices. The only rational one though is to go back home and talk to Hawke."

The irritation was still there, joined now with a surge of trepidation that was his own. "What if Hawke chooses her?"

Varric sighed. "I know you're probably not thinking straight because you're too close to it. But trust me, Anders."

Anders looked at him, surprised. Varric almost never called him 'Anders'.

"Hawke is hopelessly, disgustingly, somewhat irritatingly in love with you. It would take a lot more than a long-lost wife to change that. Things might be difficult, but if you think he's going to drop you in favor of her, then you're in for a surprise."

"You say that with such surety," Anders said quietly.

"I've known Hawke longer than you have. And more than that, I've known people _like_ Hawke longer than you have. He's a good man. If there's anyone in Kirkwall you can trust, it's him."

Anders forced a smile. "But not you?"

"Maker's breath! No, never trust a dwarf," Varric said, laughing.

Anders grinned despite himself. "Thank you, Varric. Truly."

Varric leaned forward again to clap him on the arm. "Anytime, kid."

Anders left, feeling slightly better about the whole thing. But the anxiety he felt at having to speak to Hawke sat firmly in his stomach, making him sick. By the time he reached Hightown, everything Varric said seemed a distant memory. Forcing himself to open the front door, he glanced down at the key in his hand. The key Hawke had given him that opened both the front door and the trap door to the cellar. If Hawke truly hadn't wanted him in his life, he never would have invited him in the first place.

Right?

That thought in mind, he let himself into the darkened estate, and steeled himself as he climbed the steps to their bedroom.


	5. Chapter 5

Hawke was still awake when Anders returned, sitting at the desk with an oil lamp burning. It was too warm for a fire, the windows open to let in the cool night breeze. Hawke glanced over when the door shut, a frown crossing his face as Anders removed his coat and tossed it on the bed. He turned fully to look at him, and for a moment, neither spoke. Anders felt the nervous tension between them, the twisting of his stomach as he took a few steps toward him. It faded into sweet relief when Hawke stood and pulled him into an embrace. There were several more minutes as they stood together, Anders resting his forehead against Hawke's, while Hawke slowly drew his fingers up and down his back.

"I thought…" Hawke started, but trailed off, sighing heavily.

"What?" Anders whispered, stepping back to look at him.

"I thought you'd left. For good. I talked to Bodahn. Another hour and I would've come looking for you myself."

Anders swallowed, nodding slightly. Hawke was worried. Hawke was scared that he would leave. It put everything Varric said squarely into perspective.

"I'm sorry I never told you about Brigitte. I just didn't think…" Hawke took a breath, running a hand through his hair.

"Didn't think to tell me about an arranged marriage while you were getting your life back together after it was ravaged by the darkspawn?" Anders asked, keeping his tone light and joking. "Love, I understand. And you thought she was dead. It's not as if you're obligated to bring up everything in your past to me. Maker knows I haven't told you about…"

Hawke had asked him about his time in the Circle. Anders dodged it as skillfully as he could, knowing that Hawke only asked because of his sister. And as much as Anders wanted to assure him that Bethany was okay, that she was cared for, he couldn't lie to him.

"I was fifteen when I joined the army," Hawke said, leading him to the bed. "Seventeen when I was married."

Anders undressed, listening. He didn't need an excuse. Just knowing it was an arranged marriage was enough for him. Knowing that Hawke loved him, wanted to be with him, it assuaged his fears.

"Brigitte stayed with the camp followers for the better part of a year while we moved around. There were no battles to fight. The country wasn't at war then. But it paid good money, and with the twins being so young and my father…"

"Being a mage," Anders offered.

"It was difficult for him to get work," Hawke said, tossing his dressing gown aside and climbing into bed with Anders. "I didn't think anything of it. The marriage. I was told it was to strengthen ties with Orlais. We had a big group wedding, myself and a dozen other officers."

"You were young," Anders noted, a little impressed as he settled down next to Hawke. "I didn't think they had officers so young in any army."

Hawke shrugged, trying to be modest.

"Natural leader," Anders said, smiling. He nudged Hawke, then took his hand, interlacing their fingers. "So after she left the camp followers?"

"We wrote," Hawke said. "I saw her on leave a few times. She stayed in Denerim in an estate with the other officers' wives. She told me how she missed Orlais, her brothers and sisters. I told her that once I was finished with my service we could go back to visit. She met my family once. I think Carver was jealous," he added, with a hint of sadness in his tone.

Anders had never met Hawke's brother, but would listen to Bethany talk of him. He squeezed Hawke's hand. Hawke swallowed thickly, shoulders drooping.

"So when you defected…"

"We had two options. Stay and be slaughtered by the darkspawn when Loghain quit the field, or go to Denerim to be hung as deserters. So Carver and I ran. It's the same everywhere. Every Ferelden you meet who was in the army who ran. No one talks about being a deserter. I'm surprised the king's men haven't shown up on my doorstep even now to arrest me."

"Meredith's good for something, I suppose. You're the Knight-Commander's pet. It would take a lot for another country to come into Kirkwall and take you away from all this."

"If it wasn't for Bethany, I wouldn't mind leaving," Hawke said with a heavy sigh. "You and I could go somewhere quiet. Safe."

Anders touched his own chest, frowning with the irritated constriction. He closed his eyes and felt Hawke shift to look at him.

"Justice?"

"He doesn't like it when we discuss such things," Anders managed through gritted teeth.

He felt Hawke straddle his thighs, and strong calloused hands cupped his face. Hawke's scratchy beard was against his own chin as he accepted the kiss, calming at the touch. He wrapped his fingers around Hawke's wrists, pulling them gently away as he looked up at Hawke.

"What happens now? With Brigitte," he clarified.

Hawke sighed, settling down once more next to him, head on his shoulder. "She's staying here in a guest room. I'm not sure. We didn't talk much about the future, just about what happened since the Blight. A lot of people in Denerim didn't make it. That's why I thought she died. And most of the soldiers at Ostagar…"

He trailed off, and Anders knew he was thinking about the friends he'd lost. He shifted to wrap an arm around him and kissed the top of his head.

"She thought I was dead. And someone in Redcliffe who knew about my mother's death must have mentioned it in passing. She asked around and the name 'Hawke' is apparently popular everywhere."

He sound frustrated with his fame. Anders thought he understood. Neither of them preferred the limelight.

"You're as popular as the Warden Commander," Anders noted.

"No wonder he went missing. Everyone looking for him all the time. Needing help from him."

They fell into a comfortable silence for a while, though Anders could tell he hadn't fallen asleep. A thousand thoughts were running through his head. Was it right to ask Hawke to continue to stay with him, knowing what he had to do? When Hawke could potentially move on and have a family with his wife? She obviously cared about him, and he about her. A selfish part of him wanted to keep Hawke close while the other part – the logical one – said to push him away.

"Will you talk to her tomorrow?" Anders asked finally. "About the future?"

"There's nothing to talk about," Hawke muttered, turning his face into Anders' chest. "I'm with you. I'm staying with you. There's no reason for me to honor the marriage, and even if there was, I wouldn't."

Anders sighed. "You would. You're noble, Hawke. Honorable. To a fault sometimes."

He'd proven that, purchasing the mine from that Orlesian after a high dragon nearly laid it to waste. Hawke had paid reparations to all the miners' families who'd suffered loss or injury, and paid twice what the Pit was worth. Not that Anders minded or even had any say in it. Hawke would do what he wanted. It was his money after all, and Anders was hesitant to accept any sort of charity. It was enough for him that he had a place to call home. He simply wished Hawke would take better care of himself.

"Stop overthinking it," Hawke said, increasing his hold on Anders. "I'll talk to her tomorrow. Maybe pay to send her to her family in Orlais. She can find a nice nobleman to marry."

Anders chuckled. "Marry a noble. Sounds almost like you don't like the woman."

"Hey! I'm a noble now," Hawke said, pouting.

Anders kissed his nose placatingly. "And you had to earn it. That's the only reason it suits you."

Hawke smiled, pressing his lips to Anders' cheek. "It'll all work out. I promise."

"I trust you."

They fell back into silence, and this time, Anders listened to Hawke's breathing even out, heard the quiet snores that meant his lover was asleep. But despite the reassurances he was still uneasy, and sleep was a long time in coming.


	6. Chapter 6

"You are a mage."

Anders looked up to see Brigitte standing above him. He was currently seeing to one of his regular patients, a Fereldan man who worked the docks and was getting on in years. He should have been looking forward to a nice retirement, but was now just trying to put food on the table. Frowning, he stood, patting the man on the shoulder.

"I'll mix up some herbs and send them to you tonight. You need to stop overdoing things, though," he admonished good-naturedly.

The man thanked him, giving Brigitte a look before lowering himself from the examination table and seeing himself out. The clinic was otherwise empty, and Anders began cleaning up. It had been two weeks since Hawke's wife showed up in Kirkwall, and despite Hawke's assurance that he was working on arranging for an apartment for her in Orlais, Brigitte showed no signs of wanting to leave. She dined with them, stayed in a guest room, and seemed to spend all her free time trying to find ways to interrupt them. Anders wasn't sure where he stood with Hawke anymore, though he still fell asleep every night in his arms. Sometimes words weren't enough, and he found himself wondering exactly what Hawke really wanted.

"It's not the best kept secret in Kirkwall," Anders admitted.

Meredith knew where he was, especially now that Hawke had more or less publically declared them as lovers. He insisted on bringing him to public functions and made no attempt to hide his affection. It was well known that the Champion's lover was an apostate, and the rumor mill ran afresh daily with more 'facts'. The latest was that he was keeping Meredith under a blood magic thrall and that was why she hadn't had him arrested yet.

"Not to sound rude, but did you need something?" he asked, as he pulled a stained sheet from one of the cots.

"I am trying to figure out why he insists on being with you."

Anders stopped, balling the sheet up, gripping it tightly to keep his irritation from spilling over. Though he was fairly sure Hawke would forgive him if he ended up in an argument or even a shouting match with his wife, he didn't think it would be wise overall to put that sort of strain on their relationship. Instead, he let out a breath, counted to ten, and continued to clean.

"You'd have to ask him."

"I have," she said, stepping toward him.

Anders felt her, felt Justice's warning as a scratching at the back of his brain, and resisted the instinct to go for his staff. She was a head and a half shorter than him and he had at least thirty pounds on her. But size meant nothing when special abilities were involved, and if the pursuer had trained as a templar, even the smallest woman could nullify his magic instantly. And how often had Isabela bested him in a sparring match with just her knives? His thoughts were born from years of being on the run and his own paranoid delusions and insecurities.

"And?" he asked in a clipped tone.

"He tells me simply that he loves you."

He paused in his cleaning, looking down at the bundle of bandages he was holding. A warm, secure feeling embraced him, almost as if Hawke was there with him, reassuring him. His irritation with Hawke over the last week or so disappeared at once, and he realized that he was the unreasonable one. Of course it would take time to make arrangements. And Hawke would likely have to appeal to the Grand Cleric for a divorce. It was rare, but not unheard of. Perhaps his status would hold enough sway that he would be granted one, and they could all move on with their lives.

"But I do not understand why," she pressed.

Anders sighed, tossing the bandages into the wash basin and removed his coat. He could have Orana clean them, but he hated to tax her more than she was already. And, he reasoned, he had two working hands. Sitting on the stool, he heated the water with a simple spell and began to scrub. When he didn't answer, Brigitte moved closer yet. He didn't look up.

"How did you meet?"

"He threatened me."

Anders remembered it. Hawke, Varric, and Bethany entering his clinic. Hawke demanding the maps, and Bethany apologizing for Hawke's rudeness. It was only when Anders sensed the magic in her as well that he calmed down enough to propose a trade.

"That seems odd," she said carefully.

Anders looked up at her, saw the concern in her eyes, her cautious half-smile. Her presence irritated him, but as much as he wanted to hate her, he couldn't. She'd been married out of convenience, left to be the wife of a soldier, then upon learning her husband was still alive, had to come to terms with the fact that he wasn't interested in kindling a relationship, and had moved on.

"Why don't you sit," he offered gently, nodding toward a recently repaired wooden chair. "I'll tell you about it."

She settled into the chair, crossing her ankles as she folded her hands in her lap. Anders recounted his first meeting with Hawke, the initial animosity they had that faded quickly once he realized Hawke was friendly toward mages.

"And you don't believe that you're putting him in danger, being an apostate? Even his sister is in a Circle now," she said.

Anders frowned, trying to discern her tone. Haughty? Self-righteous? While Bethany was taking her incarceration in the Circle well, it didn't mean she deserved to be there. No mage did.

"No. Hawke can take care of himself. Besides, the Knight-Commander is aware of our relationship." He watched her bristle. "You have a problem with mages?" he snapped, unable to help himself.

She straightened, her hand moving to her neckline where he could see a golden chain. Her fingers played with the charm, and he immediately realized what it was: Andraste at the stake. Most Orlesians he knew were devout followers, and it seemed Brigitte was no exception.

"I see," he muttered. "Tell Meredith if you'd like. I doubt she would do anything. No one in Kirkwall wants to upset the Champion."

"And putting you in the Circle would upset Garrett?"

Anders gritted his teeth. Though her accent wasn't very thick, there was a still a lilt when she said Hawke's name. It sounded sweet, like a caress as the r's rolled off her tongue. He hated it. He debated saying, 'Yes, because that means I wouldn't be able to suck his cock anymore,' but held his tongue.

"I daresay it would."

"He never struck me as a sympathizer."

Scowling, he scrubbed harder at the bandages, bringing the cloth along the washboard almost viciously, scraping his knuckles in the process. The burst of healing magic that came was somewhat involuntary, and he watched her wince with the bluish glow. Closing his eyes tightly, he internalized his frustration and his thoughts. Though he hadn't been able to have a conversation with Justice since they joined, he understood his moods, knew how his own thoughts and feelings affected the spirit. 

"Everyone should be sympathetic to the plight of mages," Anders muttered. 

It was no good. His hands were shaking, and he knew he would not be able to restrain himself if they continued in this vein It was becoming more and more difficult simply to _see_ a templar and not lose control. Even arguments regarding mage rights could set him off now. Hawke knew it, diffusing conversations between himself and Fenris or Sebastian before they got out of hand. He stood, tossing the bandage he'd been scrubbing into the lukewarm water.

"Excuse me. I have things to attend to. Perhaps we can finish the conversation later. Maybe at supper."

Brigitte, sensing she was being dismissed, stood and started to curtsy, then stopped. "Until then, serah."

He watched her leave, then crossed the clinic, extinguished the lanterns and locked the doors. He was in no fit state to help anyone else tonight.


	7. Chapter 7

"Yours is not a face I've seen in the chantry before."

She looked up from her seat in the upper pews, one hand grasping the Andraste pendant at her neck, the other gripping a handkerchief in her lap. The Chantry brother looked down at her with his startling blue eyes, his expression one of sympathy. Brigitte was used to that. Over a fortnight spent in Kirkwall and the rumor mill had pieced together that she was somehow important to the Champion of their city. They'd seen her come and go from his estate, watched her talk with him just outside it as they parted ways for the day. Did they see the intimacy? The way she touched his arm, or leaned up to kiss his cheek? Did they know her pain when she saw him laugh with that mage? How she felt, in this sham of a marriage?

She quickly wiped her tears, sniffing.

"My apologies if I'm intruding," he said, his Starkhaven accent thick with concern. "You looked as if you could use someone to talk to. My name is Sebastian, a brother of this chantry."

Brigitte smiled softly. "I could tell from the robes, serah. Where I'm from, there are only female affirmed in the chantry."

"In Orlais?" Sebastian guessed, gesturing at the seat, asking to sit.

She shook her head, sliding over though there was already plenty of room. "Not Orlais. In Redcliffe, Ferelden."

"My apologies. From your accent, I assumed. What brings you to Kirkwall?"

She sniffed and shook her head, wiping her eyes again delicately. "What brings _you_ to Kirkwall, serah?"

Sebastian chuckled. "Yes. My own accent. Ah. Well, most know who I am. It's refreshing to meet someone who doesn't. My surname is Vael."

Her eyes widened slightly, mouth opening just a bit. "Oh. I see."

He ducked his head modestly.

"I am sorry for your loss."

His smile was small but genuine. "Not many people acknowledge the tragedy of what happened beyond seeing me as the heir to the Starkhaven throne. I… thank you for your condolences. May I ask your name, my lady?"

"Brigitte," she said. Then, looking down, twisting the handkerchief in her lap, added, "Hawke."

It was Sebastian's turn to be surprised. "Hawke? Are you-"

"I am Garrett's wife."

The silence stretched between them, the only sound the quiet footsteps of the Chantry sisters below, sweeping the stones.

"I… I didn't realize he…"

"If a person sins, Brother, but isn't aware that he's doing so, if he thought his bride deceased, would the Maker forgive him?"

Sebastian frowned. "You're speaking of his adultery with-"

"That mage."

The frown deepened. "Strictly speaking, the Maker should understand, as well as any transgressions of your own."

"There have been none. I mourned my husband for many years, serah. I understand that he's… moved on."

Sebastian sat back, crossing his legs, arms folding as he tapped his gloved fingers against his lips, searching for an answer. "I've only known Hawke for a few years."

She glanced over at him, then turned toward him, her knees brushing his. "Tell me about him?"

"Well, we're not exactly the closest… A dwarf called Varric would likely know more than I."

Brigitte shook her head. "Everyone I ask about him knows him as the Champion of Kirkwall. They talk about his heroic deeds, and it warms my heart that he is so loved. He reminds me of the man I married in Ferelden all those years ago."

Sebastian nodded. "Hawke is very selfless. I've seen the way this city uses people, sadly. A lot of people in the world see only what others can do for them. Hawke gives without thought. You married a good man, even if some of the company he keeps is… Well. I don't wish to speak ill of his choices."

"Tell me about the mage."

Sebastian cleared his throat. "I'm not sure I'm in the position-"

"Please," she asked, reaching over, touching his hand. "I don't know anyone else in this city. I spent most of the money I had just to travel here and now my husband is arranging to send me to Orlais… My future is uncertain." She frowned, looking down. "I just want to know why he would choose that mage over me, his bride."

Sebastian took her hand comfortingly in both of his. "Anders is… fervent in his belief. He truly thinks that mages can be trusted to rule themselves and not succumb to possession. Kirkwall has seen its share of maleficarum, though. The Knight-Commander has stepped into the position of viscount since the death of the last, and it's put a bit of a strain on the mage-templar relations here."

"But what of Anders?" she pressed, gripping his hand. "What is he like? Please. I am trying to understand."

Sebastian cleared his throat before shifting a bit. "I have known him to be… excitable. Somewhat stubborn. But a true friend to Hawke. And Hawke to him."

She lowered her eyes. "Then… there is no hope for me. For us. Oh. What am I to do?" 

Carefully she pulled her hand away, sniffling as she dabbed at her eyes. Then before she could stop herself, she broke into wracking sobs, leaning forward into Sebastian's embrace. He listened to her ramble for a bit, about her uncertain future, her troubled past, her family who would no longer want her because she wasn't a widow, how she was too young to be a spinster but too old to be a proper bride again. Once she'd worked herself into quiet sniffles again, Sebastian drew her up and guided her upstairs, toward his room.

"Some tea, and a place to wash your face before you present yourself to the whole of Kirkwall once more."

She agreed and sat in a threadbare armchair in the small chambers, twisting her handkerchief between her fingers. She thanked him quietly, accepting the cup of tea which rattled on its saucer as she took it from him. A few sips, and she was calm enough to speak once more.

"I apologize for my behavior," she whispered.

"Nonsense," Sebastian said, settling on his bed opposite. "It's most understandable why one would be so distraught."

She cleared her throat, and accepted the warm, wet cloth he provided, and began to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

"What choices do I have now?" she asked quietly.

"The Grand Cleric is a reasonable woman," Sebastian said. "I'm sure if you and Hawke explained the situation, she would happily grand the annulment. Or divorce," he added, unsure.

"Divorce," she said quietly. "The consummation was insisted upon by King Cailan's counsel. May he rest forever by the Maker's side."

Sebastian lowered his head briefly in respect for the dead. "I am… intimately familiar with the inability to return home. For years I've been in Kirkwall, and I long for Starkhaven. But I've been gone so long, I'm afraid I would no longer…" He shook his head. "Would you wish to return to Orlais?"

"I do miss it," she said, sipping her tea once again. "But when I left, I was just a girl. Those in Ferelden were good to me, despite what my papa and grandpapa have said about them." She wrinkled her nose. "The country is a bit… unrefined."

They shared a light laugh, and Brigitte smiled at him.

"Perhaps you are right. There's no need to return to Orlais. But… I have no money. No home."

"Hawke wouldn't merely throw you out onto the street. You should speak with him," Sebastian urged. "And there's always a place in the Chantry."

"I do not think the life of a Chantry sister would suit me," Brigitte stated, wrinkling her nose. "With no offense, serah."

Sebastian raised his hand, shaking his head. "Not to worry. I only meant that you will have a place to stay should Hawke no longer offer his hospitalities."

"You think highly of him," she said, finishing her tea.

"He's helped me in regards to some personal matters."

Brigitte stood, and Sebastian rose with her.

"That does seem to be a common thread with Garrett," she said fondly, as Sebastian walked with her to the door. "Thank you, Brother." She leaned up and kissed his cheek. "I will think on what we've discussed."

And as she left, she missed the affectionate look Sebastian cast her way, the slight frown as he touched his cheek before closing the door.


	8. Chapter 8

The bed creaked.

And the fact that Anders was even thinking about the frame of the bed as Hawke thrust into him was evidence enough of his distraction. They'd had over a year together to learn what the other liked, and Hawke became an extremely skilled lover once he'd had enough practice. But Anders' mind was elsewhere, and he couldn't focus. It wasn't fair to either of them, and he gently pushed at Hawke's chest.

"Hawke."

"Hn?"

Hips rolled forward again, and Anders winced when Hawke pulled back, a look of concern on his face.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, panting slightly, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and chest.

Anders looked away as Hawke smoothed back his hair, placed gentle kisses on his forehead and cheek.

"Anders? You're worrying me."

Anders pulled himself into a sitting position, sliding back on the bed until he was leaning against the headboard. Hawke knelt between his legs, his erection wilting quickly.

"No, you didn't hurt me," Anders said, sighing.

He ran his fingers through his hair, then laced them behind his head before looking at Hawke, lips pressed together tightly against a well of emotion.

"You… look as if you're about to cry," Hawke said gently. He leaned forward, hesitating, but cupped his chin.

Anders closed his eyes, letting out a breath before opening them again. "I'm sorry. I'm distracted."

He took a hold of Hawke's hand, pressing his fingertips to his lips before dropping his arms to his lap.

"It must be something big to distract you from me," Hawke teased.

"It's…" He gritted his teeth, debating on whether to use the woman's name or call her what she was. "Your wife," he said finally.

The words achieved perhaps not the affect he was going for, but startled Hawke nonetheless. Anders felt a pang of guilt as Hawke looked as though someone slapped him in the face.

"Anders… I'm sorry. It's taking longer than I thought to contact her family in Orlais. I'm not sure-"

Anders lowered his eyes, sighing. "I know you're trying. I just think… maybe with everything that's happened, that's going to happen… You could have a family with her."

Silence.

Anders glanced up and was startled to see the hurt in Hawke's eyes. Green eyes, normally so soft and understanding, crinkled ever so slightly at the corners when he smiled, were hard now. His lips were curled into a frown, brow furrowed. He reached up, and Hawke pulled back abruptly. Fear coupled with a jolt of anxiety shot through his chest, settling as an uneasy lump in his stomach as Hawke climbed out of bed, tripping a bit on the sheet as he stepped onto the carpet.

"Hawke?"

Hawke was picking up his clothing he'd discarded earlier and started to dress. Anders felt sick, the lump turning into a gnawing trepidation as he swung his legs out of bed to stand. Hawke shrugged off his hand when he reached out, touching his shoulder.

"If you want to break it off, you can at least have the decency not to use her as an excuse," Hawke said gruffly.

"But I don't-" Anders started, the words catching in his throat.

Hawke tugged his tunic on over his head, running his fingers through his rumpled hair before he looked at Anders. "Just say it."

"I don't…"

"Then why?" Hawke asked in an almost desperate tone. "You run off when she comes, though I tell you I love you. You get upset when she dines with us and I understand, Anders. I do. I can't stop you from getting jealous though there's nothing to be jealous of. I'm yours. I have been for a long time, longer than you think."

Anders' hands were shaking now, and he felt horribly exposed. He bent to pick up Hawke's dressing gown from the floor and wrapped it around himself, crossing his arms. Why did he push Hawke away? He loved him. He wanted to be with him. It was stupid, this self-sabotage that he couldn't seem to stop. He was scared. Terrified, in fact, and had been since their first kiss. Since perhaps before that. He had always been waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Hawke to find someone who could give themselves over to him fully. Someone who wasn't broken, wasn't an abomination, wasn't hunted by templars. 

Someone who wasn't a mage.

He was simply afraid of losing Hawke, of getting his own heart broken when the mage-templar relations were pushed to a head, when _he_ would be pushed. The formula he found, the potion he mixed, where it sat, waiting in his clinic for the right time. He had foolishly thought perhaps that the Grand Cleric would listen, that Hawke would be appointed viscount, or anyone really. That Meredith would be forced to stand down, that Orsino would protest the treatment of his people. But as the days wore on, it was looking less and less likely. More of his friends, good people who aided the underground, were found out and disappeared. More mages would be made tranquil against their will. And someone had to do something about it. And it was extremely difficult to control Justice, more blank spots in his memory as the spirit took over.

"You've nothing to say?" Hawke asked, sounding as though he wished Anders would say anything.

But Anders couldn't. If he drove Hawke away now, it would be into the arms of his wife, and he could live a happy life, have a proper family. And he, Anders, could carry on with his cause without worrying about how much he would hurt Hawke. Better he suffer a little now than a lot later. And if it all came to a head and Hawke was there, he wouldn't feel so betrayed. Anders would be just another reckless mage, not a devoted lover who went behind his back.

When he stayed quiet, Hawke declared, "I'm going out."

Anders didn't answer him, only watched as he crossed the room and opened the door. He looked down, heard it shut, and closed his eyes tightly against the welling of emotion in his breast. Justice was pleased. Anders wished he could share his sentiment. Feeling ill, he started to dress and packed what little he had. Varric would call him an idiot, and he knew his friend would have a point. Hawke was the best thing that ever happened to him, and he was throwing that away. But he'd been fooling himself, hadn't he?

Playing, once again, at love.


	9. Chapter 9

A fortnight passed with no word from Hawke, and Anders was both relieved and devastated. He tripled his workload, often passing out in the early hours of the morning, forgetting to douse the lanterns or even lock the clinic doors. Several times he'd been woken by someone seeking aid, and his body moved automatically with little input from his fog-addled brain. Healing came naturally, automatically. There was a feeling of anticipation that sat squarely in his mind, and more often than not he found himself glancing to the hidden cache at the back of the clinic where he'd kept the mixture he'd made only a few short weeks ago.

A care package with food, herbs, and clean linens was left nightly on his doorstep, and he wasn't sure if it was Hawke's doing, or if Orana left it of her own accord. Or perhaps another of his friends. And if it was Hawke, why hadn't he come in to speak with him? Not that Anders knew particularly what he would say to him, should he come to call. He'd ignored Varric and Isabela and Merrill when they came in turn to speak with him, urging him to go to Hawke.

It hurt him to stay away from Hawke, but when he thought he would venture up to the estate to speak to him, something always seemed to pull him away from that. Another patient, or Justice pushing him forward with his underground duties. He'd rewritten his manifesto and left it once more for the Grand Cleric, not that he was expecting an answer. Elthina didn't seem interested in lifting a finger to help take Meredith's power away, and things continued to get worse. He was becoming reckless and distracted, and the nights were becoming more difficult to bear, thoughts of the future on his mind, and increasingly disturbing dreams of the darkspawn. With Hawke, it was almost easy to forget about that part of himself, the taint inside his blood. Yet another issue, another piece of baggage he carried. Why should he burden Hawke with that?

On the evening of the last day of the second week away from the estate, he was determined to get some type of restful sleep. Yawning, he pulled himself from his desk and crossed to the doors. As he was extinguishing the lanterns, he felt an odd chill at the base of his spine. Any previous fatigue fled him quickly as his heart started to pound in his chest. He turned sharply at the clanking of plate metal and his stomach soured at once.

_Templars._

Ducking back inside, he slammed the door and threw the latch, knowing it wouldn't hold for long. He snatched up his staff and bag which he'd yet to unpack. Adrenaline fueling him through his exhaustion, he slipped down into the sewers as the door to his clinic splintered. He didn't have time to close the grate, sloshing hurriedly through the ankle-deep slime as he ran through the Undercity. It wasn't the first time the templars pursued him, but it had been years since it happened last. Hawke's influence had kept them away, usually. He took the familiar passageways he knew would lead him out of the city, but something felt wrong.

The templar's silence hit him without warning, followed by a smite which knocked him from his feet, staff clattering and splashing in the foul muck. Looking up, then back, he saw his attackers: four templars, two from each side. Somehow they'd anticipated his escape and managed to get in front of him. He reached for Justice, for the power the spirit could provide, but the silence was too strong. And the last thought before he lost consciousness, the pull of the livid spirit inside him too much to bear, was how in the Maker's name did the templars become so organized.

-

He woke slowly, vision blurry. He heard voices, a soft conversation that sounded as if he was underwater, and he shook his head. A mistake. Immediately he felt the pounding headache behind his eyes and winced. The healing magic that usually came automatically to him was nowhere to be found. In fact, his magic was choked, his ability to reach into the Fade dampened. And Justice? He couldn't feel the spirit inside him. But he still maintained his emotions; frustration, panic. He wasn't Tranquil, couldn't be. That thought alone calmed him somewhat.

"Ah, he's coming to."

Anders knew that voice. He blinked several times and the face of the Knight-Captain came into focus.

"Cullen," he wheezed.

Cullen frowned. "Mettin, water."

Anders thought about resisting as a water skin was pressed to his lips, but he was dying of thirst. It was only after did he realize the water was laced with magebane, a slight burning in his stomach as his mana was neutralized further.

"You've been unconscious now for two days," Cullen said, pulling him to a sitting position.

Anders looked around. He was in a room – no, a cell. White walls, bars on the small window. He sat upon a slim bed and the only other furniture was a shelf and an uncomfortable looking chair. Another templar, Mettin, stood by the door. A square window cut into it at eye level had even more bars. Anders swallowed thickly, realizing where he must be. The Gallows.

"There's to be a discussion as to what to do with you. Until then, you're restricted to the residential hall. We'll have one of the enchanters look after you," Cullen said gently.

Anders heard the sympathy in his tone, and wanted to punch him in the face. His fingers curled, hands balling into fists and he realized he was cuffed. Manacles, but no chain, and he looked down, examining the leather straps around his wrists.

"Dampening cuffs," Cullen explained. "You killed three templars before we were able to subdue you."

"Good," Anders spat.

Cullen held up a hand as Mettin drew his sword. He waved him out. Mettin hesitated, but left, shutting the cell door behind him. Cullen stepped back, frowning.

"Out of respect for the Champion, we resisted arresting you. The Knight-Commander-" he stopped, frowning. "Former Knight-Commander thought it best to stay on his good side."

"Former? Meredith was sacked? When? How?"

This news was the only good news he was likely to have while locked inside. Cullen merely shook his head.

"If you're lucky perhaps they'll send you back to Kinloch Hold," he said, sounding tired.

Anders sneered. Cullen had been one of the templars who was in charge of retrieving him whenever he escaped. Though he wasn't ever very good at it. It was always Rylock who brought him back.

"So finally capturing me at last. You're likely to get a promotion. Good for you," he snapped vitriolically.

Cullen sighed and moved toward the cell door.

"Knight-Captain."

Perhaps it was the use of his title, but Cullen stopped and turned, an eyebrow raised.

"Who told you where I was?" Anders asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer. "Who told you about the tunnels?"

Cullen was frowning. Then, maybe deciding that even if he did tell Anders, there was nothing he could do about it locked up as he was, gave him the answer.

"Sebastian Vael. A Chantry brother."

As the door shut and locked behind Cullen, Anders felt a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.


	10. Chapter 10

Hawke felt all eyes on him, the silence in the room so absolute that his next word, though whispered, was deafening.

"Why?"

Varric frowned, looking at Hawke who was sitting at his table. Isabela, Merrill and Fenris sat quietly in various states of contemplation. Even Aveline had deigned to show up, leaning against the far wall with her arms crossed, brow furrowed.

"You'd have to ask Sebastian," Varric said delicately. It was clear he was testing Hawke's temper, not wanting to set him off with the news.

Hawke was trying very hard not to flip the long table in Varric's suite. He was sure his friend wouldn't thank him for the outburst of anger. The last few weeks had been difficult enough, and when Anders left, moving his things back to his clinic after their argument, Hawke thought that was the end. He wasn't wholly sure why Anders left, though he realized it had to do with their fight. He longed to go to him, to talk to him. But if Anders didn't want to speak to him, he wasn't going to press. He'd made sure his lover – ex-lover? – was taken care of though, having Orana leave food and basic supplies at the clinic.

He dodged their concerns when the rumor broke that they were no longer together. Mostly because Hawke wasn't sure how to answer them. There was no official breaking off, and both he and Anders were too stubborn to talk to the other. He regretted that now, figuring he had time to see Brigitte off to Orlais and then he'd address the issues with Anders when she was out of the way. Then Varric had sent him a message with the information that Anders had been arrested. 'Arrested' as it turned out was putting it mildly. Eye-witness accounts had templars dragging the unconscious healer from Darktown to the docks, tied up and under a silence. Hawke managed to corner Keran to ask after him, and all he knew was that Anders was still alive. Varric stopped him from storming the Gallows, but it was a close thing.

"How do we get him out?" Hawke asked, leaning forward, elbows on the table, head in his hands.

"Hawke," Aveline started, before anyone else could. "He was arrested with just cause. He's an apostate-"

"How easy is it for you to see the world in black and white?" Hawke asked quietly. He turned and looked at her incredulously. "Anders never did anything to you. Maybe you should go."

"Hawke-"

Isabela scoffed. "If you want to help, get Hawke information. Find out why Meredith was sacked. It's in your best interests too, isn't it?"

Hawke, normally put off by their fights, barely listened to the argument that followed. Merrill settled next to him, hand on his shoulder, and he looked at her. She smiled encouragingly at him, though it did little to lift his spirits.

"We'll figure this out, Hawke. We will."

He tried to return the smile, but couldn't, his eyes sliding from Merrill to Fenris, who was sitting across from him. Sensing the weight of Hawke's gaze on him, he looked up.

"And you?" Hawke asked carefully.

Fenris scowled. "The mage is no friend of mine. But… you are. And if you require my help, I will be there."

It was all Hawke could ask of him. Though storming the Gallows and getting Anders back by force was the last option on the list, the list itself was extremely short. Aveline, despite her dislike of Meredith and the corruption inside the Templar Order here in Kirkwall, wouldn't likely lift a finger to break a mage out of the Gallows. Especially one she particularly didn't care for. Varric's contacts could only bring in so much information. But he knew he had them on his side at least.

"I need to talk to Sebastian," he said hollowly. "I need to find out why…"

Though he and Sebastian hadn't been the best of friends, he thought at least that they'd come to an understanding. Anders had never gotten along with him, their views on the Chantry like oil and water, and on more than one occasion, Sebastian had made conversation with Fenris regarding turning him to the templars.

_"You think the templars don't know I'm here? They just haven't found me yet."_

Hawke closed his eyes, remembering the conversation as if it occurred yesterday, hearing Anders' irritated sarcasm. He missed even that. "Did he tell you about this?" he asked, looking at Fenris, trying not to sound accusatory.

"No," Fenris insisted at once. "He mentioned it in the past, but I believe he'd put the idea from his mind. We had a… discussion."

"Discussion?" Merrill asked, frowning.

Fenris turned his glare toward Merrill, unsettled as he usually was when she addressed him. "I informed him that I wasn't interested in turning either you or the abomination to the templars. And he stated that out of respect for Hawke," he continued, "he would refrain from doing so as well."

"What I don't understand," Isabela said, once Aveline had stormed off, "is what this has to do with Meredith."

Hawke's brow furrowed as he thought, dropping his eyes from Fenris back to his hands clasped on the table. He was a man of action. Sitting around talking about Meredith of all things was not what he had in mind when he called them to the Hanged Man. Though Isabela had a point. Meredith might have been keeping her templars at bay, stating on more than one occasion that Hawke's friendship was the only thing keeping Anders from the Gallows. Was he to blame, then? Had the rumors circulated so quickly that Anders was no longer living with him? But that didn't mean that he'd wanted him locked up!

Merrill jumped as Hawke's fist came down hard on the table, dishes rattling against the wood.

Even if Anders broke his heart, swore he never wanted to see him again, Hawke would never, ever condemn anyone to the Gallows. Had he known that leaving Bethany behind would have gotten her locked up, he would've taken her with him to the Deep Roads. He hadn't seen the inside of the Gallows, but the courtyard and the cells underneath were enough for him to know it was no place for anyone to be. And did the templars know about Justice now? If there was any hope of getting Anders released before, there wouldn't be after that.

"Oh Maker," he breathed, covering his face with his hands. _What if they make him Tranquil?_

He felt Merrill's comforting hand on his shoulder, heard Varric talking, but could barely make out what he was saying. Dragging his hands down his face, he looked over at him questioningly.

"I said," Varric started, "to go talk to Sebastian. Talk, Hawke. Not put your fist in his face, which would likely earn you a jail cell."

Hawke nodded meekly. "Fenris."

"Hm."

"Would you come with me?"

Fenris pursed his lips, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of confronting Sebastian, whom he considered a friend, but nodded.

"Let's go then."

"Er, now?"

"No time like the present," Hawke said, standing. He checked his sword at his side and retrieved his shield from where he tossed it in the corner. "Varric, if you hear anything…"

"You'll be the first to know, Hawke. I promise."

He nodded and looked to the others. "I'll be in touch," he said, and led the way out.

Sebastian would answer for this, one way or another.


	11. Chapter 11

"You did the right thing."

Sebastian frowned, sitting in one of the chantry pews, looking up the statue of Andraste. He wanted to believe the woman sitting next to him, Brigitte Hawke. She'd started coming to the chantry regularly, seeking him out to talk. He understood how lonely she was, a stranger in Kirkwall and only Hawke to talk to. And the man didn't keep the best company, especially for a respectable young woman like Brigitte. He couldn't imagine her running about the way Hawke did, responding to Isabela's innuendo or dealing with Varric's mannerisms. The chantry was more suited for a woman like her. And she'd told him she wasn't interested in returning to Orlais, that perhaps she'd find her new home within the Kirkwall nobility. But first she needed ties to the city to be someone. She'd begged his assistance.

Sebastian helped her contact several people she still knew in Orlais. He originally believed that she meant other nobles, people who could send her money or curry favor with citizens of Kirkwall. Maker knew Orlesians made up a good percentage of the nobles Hightown, leftover from the occupation long ago. But instead, he found himself speaking to her cousins, who had knew soldiers within the Templar Order. They'd heard of what was happening within the Kirkwall, and swooped in with such efficiency, he wondered if the Divine herself had been involved. It wasn't long after that the rumor of Meredith's departure flew through Hightown and the chantry. Sebastian wasn't one to join in with the gossip mill, but even the Grand Cleric seemed unsettled with the Knight-Commander's swift removal. Everything from her being reassigned to the Anderfels to the Divine demanding her head on a spike was thrown around as a possibility. Not that Sebastian believed any of it. If Elthina hadn't been completely ignorant of the Knight-Commander's removal, he would have thought it was her doing. But it wasn't. It had been Brigitte and her connections. The idea left him reeling, and that he'd been accessory to it was a bit unnerving.

"I didn't realize…"

"Hm?" Brigitte asked, reaching over to take his hand gently.

He wished she wouldn't. Her touch confused him. Many times he'd been tempted by quite a few things in fact, and not all of them women. Power, money, revenge. He'd succumbed to the last, hadn't he? Hawke cleaning out the Flint Company for him. And he paid Hawke, promising him more. It had felt right at the time. But now… he simply felt sick at the deaths of those men. But this wasn't like that time. He spoke with the new templars in Kirkwall, those sent from Val Royeaux, the very heart of the Chantry. Kirkwall had a problem with harboring apostates and the source, he believed, was Anders. After all, Anders never made it a secret that he planned to lead the mages into a rebellion. And that was dangerous. Not just for the people of Kirkwall, but mages everywhere else as well. The Right of Annulment could be invoked if Kirkwall were to fall to maleficarum.

While he was sure that it was safer for all that Anders was locked in the Gallows where he couldn't hurt anyone, even himself, he wasn't sure about his motivations for tipping off the Orlesian templars that had come to 'help' put Kirkwall right. Brigitte had asked his help, begged almost. She smiled sweetly, took his hand as she was doing now. Reassured him that this was the right thing to do, that she needed him. And Sebastian, who'd seen certain passages through Darktown, knew which way Anders would run, or at least knew of a few routes he could have taken. But was it the right reason? He realized he couldn't turn his back on his duty to the Maker, the vows he took when he entered the Chantry just because he liked Hawke. And there was the matter of Brigitte. Her motives weren't purely for Anders' safety, he understood that. She was jealous, upset with Hawke's choices. His heart hurt for her. After all, Hawke had taken sacred vows in the eyes of the Maker and Andraste. His transgressions up to a point could be forgiven. After all, they'd both believed the other one had perished. But to continue even after she returned? How could Hawke hurt her like that?

"You look troubled, Brother Sebastian," she said, reaching up to touch his cheek. "Talk to me?"

Her fingers felt like fire against his skin. He knew he was flirting dangerously close to breaking his own vows, coveting something he couldn't have. Brigitte was attractive, kind, sweet. She was depending on him to make things right because he'd offered. He was starting to regret that a little now. Not out of any sense of loyalty to Anders or to Hawke, but because he doubted his own motivations. Was he doing the Maker's work by assisting the templars in locking away a dangerous apostate? An abomination at that? Or did he have ulterior motives? He'd barely met this woman, vulnerable and fragile, someone looking to him for assistance and guidance. How could he help her when his thoughts were less than pure?

"I need to pray," he whispered, taking her hand from his cheek and gently pulling away. "Just because he is a mage, it doesn't mean we shouldn't hope that his soul finds peace at the Maker's side."

"You speak of him as if he's already dead," she said curiously.

"He is an abomination. He joined with a spirit of the Fade, a demon. There is usually only one thing the templars do to abominations."

Brigitte swallowed and nodded, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Sebastian watched carefully, feeling the heat rise in his face as she stood.

"I will leave you to it," she said, touching his shoulder. "I have to attend to my husband. He's undoubtedly upset."

He nodded, feeling the weight of her gentle touch through the layers of his Chantry robes. Her skirts swished as she walked away, and he turned at once, dropping his head, hands clasped. Mentally he recited canticles from the Chant of Light, trying to clear his head, to get a handle on his emotions. It was right, aiding her in contacting the Orlesian templars. Kirkwall was descending slowly into madness and he needed to do whatever he could to put it right, even if the Grand Cleric counseled patience. It meant one very dangerous apostate off the streets, a man who likely would have led the mages to rebellion and worse. He was saving lives by assisting Brigitte.

He'd almost convinced himself of this truth when a shadow fell over him. He looked up.

"Hawke."

"We need to talk."


	12. Chapter 12

Hawke had meant to talk to Sebastian, he really did. Logically, reasonably. To get an understanding as to what happened, why he'd turned on his friends. But seeing the man who'd taken part in having Anders incarcerated and his temper got the better of him. Fenris was there either for good or ill, and stopped the first punch before fist met face.

"How could you!?" Hawke screamed, struggling against the elf, who was stronger than he looked, pulling him back.

Sebastian stood, backing away, hands spread in a futile gesture of peace. "I did what needed to-"

"Maker damn you, Sebastian! I was your _friend_!"

"Hawke!" Fenris hissed, all too aware of the other inhabitants of the chantry who'd turned to stare at the commotion.

Several affirmed sisters whispered behind their hands, one rushing off no doubt to retrieve a city guard. Hawke wrenched himself from Fenris's grip and stepped into Sebastian's personal space, face to face with him.

"Why? Just tell me why."

"Because I asked him for help."

Three heads turned as one to look at the woman stepping up the stairs. Hawke had expected Grand Cleric Elthina to approach. They'd butted heads before over mage rights. But it wasn't her. He frowned, turning fully away from Sebastian, who took another step away from Hawke.

"Brigitte?"

She walked past him, stopping by Sebastian's side, hand on his wrist as she looked up at him. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Sebastian said uncertainly, feeling uncomfortable as Hawke surveyed them.

Brigitte turned to address Hawke next. "You were arranging to have me sent to Orlais without a thought given to what I wanted. That's not like you, Garrett. I didn't want to go back. There hasn't been anything there for me for years."

Hawke flexed his fingers as his rage diminished, replaced by confusion and hurt. "You did this. You convinced him to help you. And you had Anders sent away. Why?"

"Anders is a danger to himself and to Kirkwall. And to you," she added calmly. "You may not see it now, but you will understand. You're my husband, and it is my duty as your wife to look out for you. For us. For everything in our best interests-"

"I would've helped you with anything, given you any amount of money. Helped you travel to any country you wanted," Hawke seethed, and Fenris had to take his arm once more to keep him from stalking forward.

"I didn't want any of that!" she shouted, and Sebastian placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. "I only wanted you! But you only had eyes for that… for that abomination!" Her eyes were filling with tears and she wrapped her arms around herself, as if seeking comfort.

There was a clanking of plate metal behind him, and Hawke turned to see several guardsmen approaching. He scowled, looking back at Brigitte.

"Anders never hurt you. He would never hurt you."

"But he did!" she snapped. "The second he knew that you were mine-"

"The marriage never should have happened!" Hawke countered, perhaps a bit harshly. "You were just a pawn, like I was."

"Was I pawn that night we made love for the first time?" she asked, stepping forward, and Sebastian let his hand fall from her shoulder. "The night you held me and told me that you loved me? That we gave ourselves to one another?"

Fenris shifted uncomfortably, stepping away as the guards approached.

Hawke narrowed his eyes, looking down at her. "It meant nothing."

His voice was cold, and it was a lie. He recalled their first night together – his first time with a woman, in fact. Neither of them knowing exactly what to do, their inexperience making it both horrible and wonderful and they laughed together. There were only half a dozen or so other times after that, but Hawke had enjoyed it, had thought he was in love. And perhaps he had been. But that was in the past. He lost her, mourned her, and moved on. And now, his anger coupled with his worry for Anders made him want to hurt her as much as she hurt him.

And it worked. She closed her eyes, tears spilling over her cheeks, and she turned, burying her face into Sebastian's chest as she cried. Sebastian raised his hands awkwardly at first, then embraced her, not quite meeting Hawke's eye. 

Hawke frowned and looked to Fenris. "We've disturbed the people in the chantry enough."

The lead guardsman looked as if he wanted to address Hawke, to escort him out, but thought better of it. Without giving Sebastian or Brigitte a second glance, Hawke stalked out of the chantry, Fenris at his heels. He heard whispers as he passed, shoving open the large double doors as they stepped outside.

"Hawke," Fenris said, hurrying to keep up. "Where are you going?"

"To the viscount's office," Hawke said evenly. "The seneschal owes me a favor, and I mean to see this divorce through. I don't want my name sullied by a woman like that."

Fenris kept his silence as they crossed the chantry's courtyard, through the streets as they climbed the steps to the Viscount's Keep. Hawke, a jumbled mess of emotion, didn't trust himself to speak again. He knew that Brigitte was hurting, but he'd made it very clear to her from the first day that there was no chance of reconciliation. He'd apologized, accepted her tears, felt the guilt of it. And while he had enjoyed the time they spent together in Ferelden, it had been years, nearly a decade since he'd last seen her, since he thought she was dead. Since then, he'd lost others. His father. Carver. His mother. He even lost Bethany to a point. 

He wouldn't lose Anders as well.

But if he didn't act fast he knew what would happen. He knew that the templars would find out about Justice if they hadn't already. But first, he needed to rid himself of the last vestiges of his past. After, he would appeal to Cullen. The Knight-Captain was next in command and owed Hawke a great deal for the services he performed for the templars over the years. Hunting down blood mages and uncovering conspiracies, it was his doing that kept Meredith in office.

He regretted that now.

Ignoring the guards that tried to stop him, Fenris trailing him, Hawke knocked on the seneschal's door and let himself inside. Bran, a perpetual scowl on his face, looked up.

"Champion. I don't have the time-"

Hawke cut him off, palms splayed on his desk as he leaned in menacingly. "I've come to cash in a favor."


	13. Chapter 13

Anders found Bethany in the dining hall, which was part of the short list of areas in which he was allowed to venture. He'd never seen the Gallows from this point of view. Underneath, a series of tunnels opened into the Vimmark Mountains, spidering from the Undercity and allowing lyrium smugglers to bring templars their wares. He'd used the passages more than a few times, saw the cells that had started to decay from disuse from when the Gallows was a slave prison. He'd seen the courtyard and Templar Hall when Hawke had business and brought him along, though every trip had caused him more and more anxiety. But he'd never seen the actual inside of the buildings. He thought he could have died happily without returning to a Circle.

But Bethany made the transition slightly easier, racing across the hall and throwing herself into his arms. He hugged her tightly, relieved to see a friendly face in a sea of unfamiliarity. He knew the other mages, not by name or face, but because he'd grown up with Circle mages. They looked at him the way those in Kinloch Hold did after he was recaptured from a recent escape attempt. A mixture of jealousy and awe and also anger. Here though, at least a dozen or perhaps more knew who he was. The rumors of an apostate shuffling other mages to freedom was known. The only one brave enough to approach him, however, was Hawke's sister.

"When I heard the templars talking that they'd brought you in, I didn't believe it," she said, sitting with him at the end of a long table.

Anders hadn't really bothered with supper, the tray in front of him largely untouched, and nor it seemed had Bethany. She held his hands, turned toward him, eager for his side of the story.

"Are you holding up alright? How's my brother?"

Hawke had been able to pass messages through some of the templar recruits, most notably Keran who owed Hawke his life and his position. But that was becoming more and more dangerous as Meredith had become increasingly imbalanced.

"He's…"

Bethany tilted her head, smile fading. She must have easily read his hesitation. "Did something happen?"

"Hawke is fine. Physically," Anders said. "His wife-"

Bethany's eyes widened. "Brigitte's alive?"

Anders recounted the last few weeks for her. The awkwardness of living with Hawke's wife around the corner, their confrontation. And before he knew it, the entire story was spilling out of him. How he felt like a third wheel, how Hawke promised he was trying to send her away, the jealousy and uncertainty, and how he felt like Hawke was better off without him. It was embarrassing and relieving, and Bethany's arms were around him comfortingly.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes shut.

"Nothing to be sorry about," she said, brushing back his hair. "My brother is stupid."

The declaration was so abrupt it made him laugh. "Sometimes."

Bethany grinned at him, and he found himself returning it.

"But he does love you," she added gently. "If you'd just talked to him…"

"It's not as simple as that," he sighed, though he wished it was. "I can't talk about it here."

Even now, there were a dozen templars stationed around the hall, watching and listening. Anders shuddered, remembering the familiar feeling of being locked in a Circle. He'd been so many years removed from Kinloch Hold that he'd almost forgotten the oppressiveness of it all. And though he hated having to run and hide, the life of a fugitive apostate was vastly preferable to this. It was infuriating how many had simply accepted their fate. But perhaps there was still hope. Even though he was more shackled than most, the cuffs removing his magic and his connection to Justice, he still had a clear head. The magebane didn't addle his senses, just his magic. And revolutions could be waged without it.

"Tonight, after lights out, I'll come to your room."

Bethany frowned. "It's dangerous. If they catch you-"

"You can say that I was trying to seduce you," he said simply.

It was an excuse he'd used time and time again in Kinloch, meeting with the other mages in secret. And if a clandestine meeting turned into a quick tryst after business was concluded, well that was just a bonus. However, his interest in Bethany was purely familial. She wasn't the Hawke he longed for. Frowning, he pushed thoughts of him from his head, not needing the distraction now. Once out, he would reconcile with Hawke, if that was possible. Especially after what he had to do.

Bethany shook her head good naturedly. "I'm not sure we'd be believed. Too many people know that you're involved with my brother. Popular man that he is."

"Well, I was always a sucker for a pretty face," he joked, somewhat weakly as he leaned over and tugged a strand of her hair.

She took his hand in both of hers. "Anders. I know we weren't close before I came to the Gallows, but I'd like to think that I know you well enough to know when you're hurting."

He looked away, not wanting to see the sympathy in her eyes. She read his moods almost as well as Hawke did, and an offhand flirtatious one-liner wouldn't sway her from her concern.

"It's not just about my brother, is it?" she asked, leaning in.

"We shouldn't talk about it here," he said again. Technically speaking, he shouldn't talk about it to Bethany at all. It was dangerous to get anyone else involved.

"Fine," she agreed, though her lips had tightened into a frown. "Tonight."

"Bethany… when Hawke comes for me-" He paused, wondering if Hawke would in fact, come for him. He hated the part of himself that hoped he would, and hated himself even more for hoping he wouldn't. "If he comes," he started again, "you have to come with us."

She pulled back, removing her hands from his, and slowly crossed her arms. It was her turn to look away from him.

"Bethany-"

"Anders, I've made my decision. I can do more good within the Circle than out of it."

"But if you could leave. If you could go anywhere," he urged, not wanting to think about what could happen to her in the aftermath.

She sighed. "I don't think we're going to see the change you're looking for in our lifetime."

Supper ended with the usual announcement, a burly templar calling for them to assemble in the meeting hall.

"I wonder what that's about," Bethany said, frowning, getting to her feet.

Anders finished off the last of his bread roll, the only thing he could stomach at the moment, and followed her. "Perhaps they killed another apostate," he said savagely. "And want to talk about how important they are."

Bethany took his arm. "Come on," she said, pulling him toward the crowd. "Maybe it's something to do with the Knight-Commander."

Anders allowed her to lead him away and hoped she was right. Perhaps if Meredith's removal was permanent, there would be no reason for him to go through with his plans after all.

But could he be so lucky?


	14. Chapter 14

The most remarkable thing about the woman standing at the top of hall was the fact that the templars gave her a wide, wary berth. Anders had heard of the Seekers of Truth, but he'd never seen one. Their base of operations was in Orlais, and they rarely if ever had reason to visit the Free Marches or Ferelden. But the templars seemed to understand what their presence there meant, even if the Circle mages appeared confused. The sleek black armor, the golden eye looking like a Chantry sunburst that stared into your soul, it was unsettling.

The woman herself would have been attractive if not for the perpetual scowl, the fire in her eyes as she looked upon them in disgust. Her dark red hair was drawn back into a tight bun, not a strand out of place. She looked the mages over, the few hundred that were gathered in the hall, at the templars lining the walls, then finally to Knight-Captain Cullen, who leaned down as she said something in his ear. His expression was carefully blank, more controlled than Anders had ever seen him as he nodded. The woman turned back to the crowd.

"I am High Seeker Rosalie Triste. This facility is now under the control of the Seekers, by order of Her Holiness, Divine Justinia."

The woman's thick Orlesian accent was difficult to understand, but a quiet murmur rippled through the crowd as the mages began to speculate. Anders, standing near the back of the hall with Bethany, crossed his arms and frowned.

Triste continued. "It has been decided that the former Knight-Commander Meredith was unfit to continue in her capacity as protector of this city."

Anders snorted. "Protector," he muttered. "As if templars actually protect anything but their own interests."

He'd heard enough, watching as Triste paced a few short steps, all eyes on her.

"Until further notice, all mages are confined to quarters, pending interviews regarding a rumored mage underground resistance and other reports of maleficarum in the city."

_That _caused immediate unrest. Anders watched as the crowd became unsettled, the murmurs turning into outspoken complaints. His eyes slid from the Seeker to the First Enchanter, and he wasn't surprised to see Orsino holding his tongue. The elf look properly cowed. He wondered if Orsino cared. Anders, however, kept his silence. But he was one of the few that did. The thought of being 'interviewed' about the mage resistance was an unsettling one. It wasn't as if he wasn't prepared to lie. And he wasn't concerned about what would happen to him – he'd faced the injustices in the Fereldan Circle, he would do so again here. Pain was fleeting. No, what worried him was if they discovered something about the underground. His friends, the people he worked with for years on this, everything would be undone. Would Seeker Triste hang them? Take their heads? Or just throw them in a cell to rot?__

__How much did Sebastian know? How much did he tell them?_ _

__He kicked himself mentally as the templars began escorting them out. While talking to Hawke, he hadn't been particularly guarded about his speech. He regretted that now, but there was little he could do about it at the moment. All he could hope for was that Sebastian didn't know any names. The last thing he wanted was for Lirene's shop to be investigated, or for Selby to be found out. He wished there was a way to get a message to them, but finding a friendly templar in the Gallows…_ _

__And then he caught a flash of red hair._ _

__"Thrask."_ _

__Bethany, who'd been walking beside him as they filed out of the hall, looked up at him. "Hm?"_ _

__He gently squeezed her hand, a plan forming in his head. "Don't worry about me."_ _

__"Anders!"_ _

__But he'd already taken off, cutting a path through the other mages, picking a tall, muscular Rivaini man who looked as if he'd been in a few fights. He was closest to Thrask, who hadn't yet seen Anders. Knowing the plan was insane, but having no other option, he threw himself bodily at the Rivaini._ _

__"Watch where you're going!" Anders snarled._ _

__The effect was perfect. The man reacted without thinking, and Anders felt a heavy fist connect with his jaw. He dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, pain radiating from the point of impact. Thankfully before the other mage could get off a second hit, the templars were converging on them. Two pulled the Rivaini back, while Thrask knelt down to help Anders up. As he pulled on the templar's gauntlet, Anders pressed his lips close to his ear._ _

__"Get a message to Hawke. Tell him Selby needs to know we're in trouble. Seekers in the Gallows."_ _

__Thrask frowned, and Anders hoped he hadn't misjudged his sympathies. There was a moment of panic, then Thrask's eyes met his and there was an almost imperceptible nod._ _

__"Ser Thrask!"_ _

__Anders looked over as he was hauled to his feet. Knight-Captain Cullen was approaching, two more templars behind him. Gingerly, Anders reached up to touch his jaw. Not broken, but bruised._ _

__"Knight-Captain," Thrask said, bowing slightly. "Just a bit of a misunderstanding."_ _

__Cullen's eyes narrowed. "I'm sure it was more than that." It was clear by his tone that he suspected Anders was up to something. "I'll take this one personally to the High Seeker. I'm sure she'll be interested in what he might have to say."_ _

__"It must burn you something awful to be skipped over for that promotion," Anders said offhandedly before he could stop himself. "I imagine they're not fond of templars who have previous history of fraternization with the mages."_ _

__Thrask's eyebrows went up, and the templars behind Cullen exchanged a look even as Cullen's face reddened. Anders winced as a gauntleted hand gripped his arm._ _

__"I'll thank you not to spread unsubstantiated gossip amongst my men," Cullen said in an undertone, clearly embarrassed._ _

__Cullen waved them away as he dragged Anders off. Anders felt the throbbing pain in both his jaw and his bicep. Even if the Knight-Captain hadn't so much as touched a mage in the Fereldan Circle (and his naïve Chantry boy blushing was enough to make Anders believe the rumors of his affairs were false), the damage had been done. Templars could gossip like fishwives, and most mages were quick to believe the worst of their jailors._ _

__"More trouble keeping me in the Circle than letting me operate outside it, Knight-Captain?" Anders asked, knowing he should keep his mouth shut, but unable to do so. The anger he felt at being locked away returned in full force, the indignation whenever templars would walk by with their self-righteous noses in the air. Only he didn't have to try to calm himself for fear of Justice emerging. He couldn't currently feel the spirit; there was no chance of losing control here._ _

__"You never did know when to be quiet."_ _

__"Did you think that I've changed so much over the years? Only you seem to have. Promoted to Knight-Captain, running the show. I bet Greagoir would be so pleased-"_ _

__The door to what was formerly Meredith's office opened as they approached. The First Enchanter stepped out, finishing a conversation with the red-haired Seeker._ _

__"Yes, High Seeker. I understand."_ _

__"Good." She turned to look at Cullen, who was bodily dragging Anders down the hall. "Knight-Captain."_ _

__"High Seeker," Cullen said, pulling Anders forward._ _

__Anders caught Orsino's eye, scowling as the elf ducked his head and crossed into his office. For all the help that Hawke had provided the First Enchanter, for sticking up for him, Orsino was no more than a powerless figurehead._ _

__"I suggest you start here. This is the apostate that was caught in Darktown a few days ago."_ _

__Cool brown eyes looked Anders over, and he found himself wishing he had his coat and staff returned to him, feeling naked in the simple grey and white Circle robes. He'd forgotten how constricting they felt._ _

__"I'll speak with him alone."_ _

__Cullen started to object, but stopped upon seeing the hardened look on the High Seeker's face. Anders wasn't sure how much responsibility the Knight-Captain had for the failure of his Order, but it was clear that he was going to take the fall. The grip on his arm loosened and he was released. He briefly entertained the fleeting notion of running, but it was useless. There was nowhere left to run to. So, taking a breath, he stepped inside the former Knight-Commander's office to be interrogated._ _


	15. Chapter 15

Hawke was in the Hanged Man once again, sitting in Varric's suite, examining Anders' maps of the Undercity. He'd been through the tunnels once before, when Anders asked him for help regarding a templar called Alrik. The aftermath of that could be described as little else than a tidal wave of events that eventually ended with Anders in his bed. He still could recall their first night together, the confessions they spoke regarding their true feelings for one another. But he pushed the memory away viciously. It wouldn't help him now, trying to plan a rescue mission for his lover.

Ex-lover?

His feelings weren't complicated. He loved Anders. He would do anything for him. He'd left Brigitte's things packed in the front hall of the Amell estate along with a purse full of gold and a note explaining that she had to leave. He wanted to hate her for what she did, how she inserted herself into his life and presumed that simply because at one point in time he'd loved her, that he would continue to do so. As angry as he was, he could only dredge up pity for her. No, the anger he held was for Sebastian. He'd seen the way he looked at Brigitte, the way he held her. Did he love her?

They could have one another as far as Hawke was concerned.

"We'll take the passage way in here, provided it's not caved in," he said, tracing a line with his finger.

Isabela leaned over, tapping another entrance with the tip of her dagger. "If you want discreet-"

Hawke frowned. "What do you know about it?"

"Sweetheart, I'm not just a pirate. I've worked dozens of smuggling jobs in the Free Marches before you showed up in Kirkwall, swinging around your big sword like you owned the city."

She was smirking. Hawke was in no mood for joking or flirting though. Anders' life hung in the balance. He'd received a missive from Thrask the other night. Seekers in the Gallows. He wasn't sure what it meant, or if Anders was even still all right, though the templar assured him he was. He'd passed the message on to Selby who'd looked less than pleased with the news, saying something about changing plans, though Hawke couldn't begin to imagine what she'd had in mind. He promised her he would get Anders out.

There was no way to know where they were keeping Anders, however, and once they broke into the Gallows, it would be a difficult thing to actually find his cell. He had no time to get word to Bethany either, and there was a high chance that if he tried to send a message to either of them, that it would be intercepted. He visited the Gallows earlier that day, but the only mages allowed in the square were the Formari merchants and the tranquil. Confined to quarters, Solivitus, a friend of Hawke's, had said. Hawke's thoughts went again to Anders, how he must have felt trapped inside a cell, helpless. Waiting.

He knew his lover was no damsel in distress. He'd seen Anders fling fire and chain lightning, knew what he was capable of. But he also knew how captivity affected him. He'd held him after the nightmares of the Deep Roads, or of the cell in the Circle's tower dungeon. It pained him to think that Anders was once again locked up and he cursed the Chantry for hurting the people he loved. Seekers or no, Hawke would find a way to save him.

"Fine," he agreed, nodding to her. "You can lead us through. Varric, do you have the blueprints?"

Varric unrolled yet another map, this one of the Gallows back during the slaver days when Kirkwall was a quarry providing stone and other materials for the Imperium. It was just lucky that not much had changed in hundreds of years. Hawke tapped his fingers on the paper, frowning as he determined where the cells were.

"We'll spread out when we get there," he said. "Hopefully we'll find him quick enough."

"And what happens if one of us gets caught?" Varric asked, looking dubiously at him. "It's not much of a plan, Hawke."

Hawke looked at him, eyes leveled. "I'll take the fall. I'm still the Champion of the city, though I don't know what that means with Meredith gone now..."

He looked from Varric to Isabela, both of whom he'd be taking with him, to Fenris, who would stand guard at the Gallows' entrance, to Merrill, who'd wanted to come, but Hawke couldn't chance bringing inside, just in case. The others he could manage to convince Aveline to let off with a fine and a warning, perhaps with a story about smuggling. But Merrill was a mage, a blood mage, and Aveline only made an exception for her because she was Hawke's friend. He was losing influence in the city, and fast. They needed to strike tonight or the chances of recovering Anders would grow slimmer by the day.

"Please. I need your help," he said, looking back to Varric again, not begging, but ready to do so if the dwarf declined.

Varric huffed. "Stop. You know I can't bear to see a human cry."

This time, Hawke did smile.

"When do we leave?" Isabela asked, tucking her knife inside her boot.

Hawke rolled up the papers and handed them to Varric, who placed them inside a chest with a complicated locking mechanism. Fenris, who'd been sitting silently the entire time they discussed the plans, stood.

"Better we move now," he said, glancing out the window. The sun was just setting over the mountains. "Hawke?"

Hawke nodded. He was prepared, his pockets full of lyrium and elfroot potions, expecting the worst. The way Anders had spoken about the templars in the past, it wouldn't surprise him if his lover was suffering. The thought bolstered him. He _would_ rescue Anders. He _would_ get him out. And then, once Anders was safe, Sebastian would answer for his betrayal. Hawke would make sure of that.


	16. Chapter 16

It was a dream. When he opened his eyes, he would be back with Hawke, back in bed with him, curled up against his chest, listening to his quiet snores while the dog tried to get up between them. The aches he felt in his arms and legs would disappear and he would feel Justice sitting squarely in his breast, a heavy weight, but comforting somehow. And Hawke would wake and kiss him and they'd breakfast together before being dragged away on whatever harebrained errand Hawke was performing next.

But it was a lie. When he opened his eyes there was nothing but blackness. As his eyes adjusted to the moonlight streaming into the cell he thought he heard a faint commotion. He strained to make out any specific words, but it sounded like shouting. Gingerly he got to his feet, his body feeling bruised from the earlier 'interrogation'. His magic dulled and restrained, he was unable to channel any healing energy, and the flogging he received for his cheek left him sore and aching. He'd been allowed to clean up then was sent straight back to his room where he was left for another two days, his meals deposited without a word. He hated this feeling of helplessness. Of being alone.

Crossing the short distance to the door, he looked out of the barred window, his view of the hall limited from the angle and the lack of light. He startled as three shadowed figures ran past the window. Templars? But out of their plate, as there was no clanking of metal. The shouting in the distance grew louder and the sounds turned to fighting, sword against sword. Anders reached up, taking hold of the bar, pressing his face closer, trying to see.

And he jumped back as a face appeared in front of his so suddenly and silently like a ghost. His heart raced as he clutched his chest, until through the darkness he could make out the familiar lines, the smile, and he imagined the mischievous crinkling around the eyes, though he couldn't see them.

"Isabela!?"

"Hey sweetness," she said. "Give me two seconds here."

Anders swallowed thickly, heart still pounding as the lock clicked and the door opened. Standing just on the other side was Isabela, one hand on her hip, the other twirling a lockpick between nimble fingers.

"You going to stay in there all night or will you be coming? Nice outfit, by the way," she noted, looking him up and down.

The Kirkwall Circle robes swished around his ankles as he stepped out of the cell, inhaling. Though they were still inside the Gallows, it felt good simply to be out of the small box of a room.

"What are you doing here? Where's-" But he stopped himself from asking after Hawke.

"This is a rescue mission," she said, leading him down the hall carefully, eyes keen in the dim and flickering torchlight. "I would have thought you'd figured that out. Now shush or the templars will catch wise to what's going on. They're not all stupid, you know."

Anders kept silent and followed Isabela, pausing when ordered to do so. Without his magic he wasn't going to be much use, not really trained in hand to hand combat. And against a templar's sword and shield, he would have no protection. The sounds of fighting he heard earlier on were still far off and distant.

Isabela led him down into the bowels of the Gallows, facing only one lone guard that she easily knocked out, using the shadows to her greatest advantage. A large wooden door at the end of a dark tunnel swung open to reveal a crumbling spiral stone staircase. He shivered in the damp, a steady dripping noise somewhere down below.

"Go," she ordered.

"What about you?" he asked, worried.

She handed him a dagger, a simple silver blade with an onyx handle. "Someone has to tell the others that you're safe. I didn't come on this daring rescue mission alone, after all. Meet us at the bottom."

"Isabela!"

But she was gone in a dark puff of smoke which left him coughing, the acrid scent making his eyes water. He kept hold of the dagger just in case, though if the stairs led to where he thought they would he doubted he'd run into any opposition. Still, it was possible that lyrium smugglers would hit first and ask questions later. Never before had he felt so exposed and naked and useless than when he couldn't use his magic. Not even in solitary did they bind him in such a way. The use of magebane was strictly controlled and largely prohibited, First Enchanter Irving deeming it unnecessary and barbaric.

Anders knew the tunnels under the Gallows well enough that he didn't need more than the barest of torchlight to see. And as the steps ended and the slim tunnel widened slightly, opening into a larger sewer pipe, he stopped, seeing a familiar and largely unwanted silhouette.

"Mage."

"Fenris."

They looked at one another for a moment before Fenris shifted his weight, eyes sliding from Anders to the spot just behind him.

"They're coming," Anders said by way of an answer.

Fenris had come on this rescue mission. It was a jarring, absurd thought. But if Fenris had come, it definitely meant that Hawke was here as well. No one else could have convinced the elf to come. Maker's breath, he probably _celebrated_ when he found out that Anders had been locked up. Anders pushed the ungrateful thought from his head quickly. It wouldn't be prudent to dwell on animosities while they waited.

Perhaps ten minutes of uncomfortable silence later and Isabela was half-dragging a nearly unconscious Varric down the stairs and through the tunnel. Anders immediately reached for the healing magic that he couldn't access, his spells locked to him while he was restricted by the cuffs.

"Go!" Isabela shouted at him. "Fenris, watch our flank!"

"What about-" Fenris started.

"Where is-"

"Andraste's flaming ass," she snarled. "GO!"

Anders heard it; the shouting of men behind them. He stooped to help Isabela with Varric. He couldn't fight, not against armed templars. And Varric, bleeding from the head, wasn't in any state to do so either. But Isabela still could. She nodded as he took Varric's arm and hurried down the tunnel. It didn't take long for him to find the junction where he'd met others in the underground, helping mages escape to freedom. On reflex he knew which way to go and followed the sewers up through the Undercity into Darktown.

But where could he go? The templars knew where his clinic was, they would search there first certainly. The Hanged Man was out if they recognized Varric. And Hawke's estate would be searched once they realized he'd gone missing from his cell. Feeling sick and nervous, he dragged Varric through the winding, confusing streets of Darktown, making a decision. The basement door was half-hidden by a cave in, and he had to set Varric down in order to clear it.

"Varric?"

"Remind me," Varric coughed, "to thank Hawke for a lovely time…"

Anders stooped, pulling Varric to his feet, and then with some effort pulled him up over his shoulder and started up the steps into the wine cellar of Fenris's estate. It wasn't nearly as impressive as the Amell's, and no longer as accessible as some of the others. In Tevinter days, Darktown received all the wine deliveries. No noble would want the scandal of having a large shipment of alcohol delivered to their door front, and this way their cellars would be stocked from the bottom up. They likely believed it appeared there on a whim, giving no thought to the lowborn workers that made it happen.

He only hoped that Fenris kept a stock of medical supplies in addition to his copious collection of wine.


	17. Chapter 17

It was a tense couple of minutes as Anders located basic first aid supplies, bandages, and elfroot potions. The gash on Varric's head was more superficial than he first thought and he was just finished patching him up when Isabela and Fenris appeared, covered in sweat and slime and blood. Fenris immediately walked to one of the shelves, pulled down a dusty green bottle, yanked the cork out with his teeth and downed half the contents in one swallow. Isabela was at Anders' side, looking down at Varric, frowning.

"Is he…?"

"He'll be fine. He just needs rest, though if I could use my magic, I could fix it further," he said, holding up the cuffs. "Where's… where's Hawke?" he asked haltingly, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

"…Probably in a cell," she said, seizing one of his hands to examine the cuffs.

Anders had inspected them already. Leather and metal with a complicated catch and infused with some sort of magic. He couldn't fathom how to remove them.

"What?" He tried to wrap his head around what she'd said. Hawke, arrested?

Isabela looked at him, her dark eyes sorrowful, almost apologetic. "The plan was to get in, split up, and search. He must have heard Varric get into trouble, because by the time I was able to get to him…" She bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth as she fiddled with a latch on the cuff.

Anders took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself. Of course Hawke would sacrifice himself for them. When hadn't he? Stupid, stupid man.

In a rush, he felt his magic return to him as Isabela removed one of the cuffs. He closed his eyes against the welling of power, the euphoria that came with it. Breathing in deeply, he ignored Fenris's muttered swear.

"Ooh I love it when you glow," Isabela purred.

Anders opened his eyes to see Fenris's markings dull, and watched the elf polish off the last of the bottle. He held out his other wrist to Isabela, trying not to ponder the intricacies of the lyrium brands and how his magic affected them. The leather slipped from his skin and he felt as if he'd just woken from a very immersive dream. He shook his head, pressing the heels of his palms against his brow for a moment before turning back to Varric. The potions and basic first aid had ensured he would be alright, but the healing magic he breathed into him would speed up the process. And he had a feeling they would need everyone in top form.

"So how do we get him out?" Anders asked, looking to Isabela.

"Ah…"

"Isabela!" he snapped as she hesitated.

"Look, we stormed the Gallows once to get you out, you're out. I don't think it's a good idea to go back. What if someone else gets hurt or… or killed." Her eyes slid to Varric, who was still unconscious.

Anders clenched his fists, coming to stand in front of her. He was a head taller, but she met his glare unflinchingly. "You would leave him to the templars?"

She shrugged irritably. "He can take care of himself."

His temper flared and he stepped forward, forcing her back. Before he could open his mouth to say anything, Fenris was there, shoving between them. Anders saw Isabela scowl, hands on her hips, his eyes sliding to Fenris, who was glowering, markings flaring slightly. Even with his magic, Anders knew that Fenris could phase his fist right through his chest and kill him where he stood. That is, if Justice didn't take over first, and he could feel the spirit tugging at his mind, demanding to break free. He stepped back, looking away.

"Look-" Isabela started, but Anders turned his back on her.

"I'm going back."

Isabela and Fenris spoke at once.

"Do you think it wise-"

"That's the dumbest idea-"

Anders whirled on them, eyes flashing blue, he could see the splintering cracks in the back of his hand. "He sacrificed himself for me."

"And you would throw his sacrifice away," Fenris growled.

"Blondie."

Varric's weak cough startled them from their argument. Anders was at his side in an instant, feeling the slight rush of power recede as he calmed.

"Varric, how are you feeling? Are you all right?" He checked the wound on Varric's forehead which was already healed, a faint white scar appearing.

"Dandy," he said, coughing again as Anders helped him to sit up. "Just peachy all around. Did I hear you right?"

Fenris brought him another bottle of wine, from which Varric took a grateful swig.

"Hawke wouldn't think you for getting yourself locked back up." He tipped the bottle back once more, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before looking around.

"Here," Isabela said, picking up his crossbow and handing it to him.

"You know me too well, Rivaini," Varric said, setting the bottle down and picking Bianca up.

Anders crossed his arms, watching Varric inspect the weapon. From Varric, the argument made sense. The dwarf's words rang home more than either Isabela's or Fenris's, and his anger abated somewhat. He looked at him, somewhat helplessly.

"You look like a kicked puppy," Varric sighed. "Can you two give us a minute? Think I need to have a heart to heart with our healer."

Isabela tipped a salute, seemingly happy to get away from Anders after their confrontation. Fenris scowled, not appreciating being ordered about in his own house. But Varric commanded as much respect among their group as Hawke did, and he went without a word. When the door shut, Varric sighed again, reaching for the wine bottle. Anders waited until he'd taken another healthy sip before speaking.

"Varric, I have to go. I have to… I need…"

Varric held up a hand. "Look. Hawke risked his life to get you out of that place. They're not going to hurt the Champion of the city, regardless of Meredith's dismissal. The nobles wouldn't have it. And this Seeker isn't stupid. None of them are, otherwise they wouldn't have gotten the job. So we wait. And you," he added, gesturing with the bottle, "stay put. By now the streets are likely crawling with templars and the guard, looking for you. And Hawke's house is the first place they'll go. It's not like you two were ever a secret."

Anders felt himself blush slightly at the last, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. "Varric. We left it… I should have said something."

"Yep."

Anders scowled. "You weren't supposed to agree with me."

"I call it like I see it," Varric said with a shrug, finishing off the bottle. He set it aside and leaned back on the lumpy mattress with a sigh. "Look, chances are he'll be released tomorrow with a fine and a warning."

The unspoken, 'And if they don't?' hung in the air between them as Anders kept his eyes locked on Varric's. He felt a horrible, painful gripping sensation in his chest, the lump in his throat as he swallowed his anxiety, his fear. There was the possibility of the Seeker making an example out of Hawke, despite his being the Champion or because of it. No one was safe.

"I have to go the clinic," he said finally, making up his mind.

"I don't think that's a good idea-"

"I'll be careful."

Before Varric could protest, Anders hurried out. If Hawke wasn't released, if the High Seeker was determined to show the nobles of Kirkwall what she was capable of, if the mages continued to suffer, he would need to be prepared.


	18. Chapter 18

"I told you already, I really don't know where he is."

Hawke was tired. For the last six hours he'd been interrogated by High Seeker Triste. She reminded him harshly of Aveline, though he'd seen Aveline's vulnerability, her careful mask of Guard Captain slipping a bit when she was surrounded by friends. It was difficult to think that this woman on front of him ever smiled. She paced back and forth in front of him, hands behind her back as she contemplated her next question. He sat at a table, a half-finished glass of water between his hands. Prior to this, he'd been locked in a cell, arrested for trespassing in the Gallows and injuring several templars.

"So you weren't in the Gallows in order to rescue your apostate lover?"

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," Hawke replied easily, sitting back. 

He sighed, lacing his fingers behind his head. He'd gotten little sleep, worried as he was for his friends from whom he'd heard nothing. Not that he expected to. If they had any sense, they would all be lying low. Varric's friends in the Coterie would keep him safe. Fenris could take care of himself and would be able to hide if necessary. Isabela could as well. But Anders… would he know enough to stay out of sight?

Hawke had thought about him every day since he walked out. He thought of all the things he wanted to say to Anders, all the things he should have done differently. And when he finally made up his mind to travel to Darktown to talk to him, he'd received the information that Anders had been taken. He regretted not hitting Sebastian when he'd had the chance.

"The mage Anders," Triste continued, "turned up missing after a bed check immediately following the break in."

"I already told you. I was looking for my sister."

The interrogation was going in circles, and Hawke was quickly losing patience. So too, was the High Seeker.

"If you're not going to charge me with anything, I'm going to leave." He narrowed his eyes as she turned to look at him, meeting her glare. It was difficult to see what she was thinking, but whatever it was, it wasn't pleasant.

"You are to be held until we find the abomination."

Hawke felt his stomach drop at the declaration. Not that he was to remain in prison, but that the Seeker knew what Anders had inside him. He'd hoped that they merely believed him to be an apostate. If they realized he had a Fade spirit sharing his soul, there would be no second chances. Once caught, they wouldn't bother with a trial, would they? They would take his head.

"I'm sure you'll find the nobility-"

"The nobles have no say here. Kirkwall is under Divine Law now. The Seekers are in charge. More of my men will be arriving within three days," she said, crossing he arms, watching Hawke's reaction.

He didn't flinch. It didn't sound like an Exalted March from old, but there was no doubt that the streets would be filled with the Divine's soldiers. That anyone harboring a mage, or possibly even family members of mages would be under suspicion. Anders had spoken already of seeing his friends taken away to the Gallows to be interrogated, people dragged from their beds in the middle of the night if the templars had even the slightest thought that they knew anything about the underground. It seemed all their worst fears were coming true.

"Good," he said, leaning back, propping his legs up on the table, crossing them at the ankle. "It's about time someone took charge of this city. I'd still like to put my name forward as Viscount."

She scowled. "You can act as nonchalant about it as you'd like. But do not pretend this doesn't frighten you."

"Oh is that was this is about? You want to frighten me? You know, I've seen darkspawn, I've fought demons, ogres, giant spiders bigger than your ego with fangs longer than my arm. Have you ever seen a varterral? No? The Divine unleashing a few dozen soldiers in the streets doesn't bother me. But do you know what does, Seeker?"

Her eyes narrowed, mouth thinning. "I'm sure you'll enlighten me."

"The fact that no one seemed to give a damn about Kirkwall before this. The Chantry didn't care about the starving children beneath its streets. But you know who did? The abomination you're talking about. He healed the sick and the wounded. He gave them shelter and food, even clothing off his own back. And the people love him. And if one man can do that where your Maker can't, and you still want him locked up or dead or Tranquil, then all I see in front of me is a vindictive, jealous bitch."

Triste jerked forward as if she wanted to hit him, but Hawke didn't flinch. Instead, he yawned exaggeratedly and stood.

"Are you going to keep me in the Gallows or are we going to find a cell in the Viscount's Keep?"

-

He was made to wait another hour in a dank cell while the High Seeker gathered half a dozen templars to escort him to the Keep. Hawke though it was rather foolish on her part, even if the sun was setting the streets were starting to empty out. There wasn't a person in Lowtown who didn't know him by face, and as he was dragged through the docks, people whispered behind their hands and stared. It was similar too for Hightown, and Hawke kept his head up, though his hands were bound behind him. Two templars flanked him with two leading the way and additional pair behind. It was overkill for one lone warrior who didn't even have his sword, but High Seeker Triste was determined to make an example out of him.

A movement in the shadows caught his eye and he glanced over, past the group of nobles who were milling now in the square in front of the Keep. A flash of white hair and then it was gone. Though Hawke didn't smile, he felt slightly lighter. Only one person he knew had that hair, and Fenris would likely report his arrest to Varric, who would hopefully use his contacts to sway a magistrate to hear his case sooner than later. The right amount of coin in the right pockets and he'd be home before the Seeker's men even showed up.

And then?

He tripped a bit on the carpet as the templars dragged him into the keep and toward the dungeon, wondering if Aveline would even be told that her cells would be in use tonight by someone other than the usual riff-raff.

And then, he thought, he would find a way to retrieve Bethany and leave Kirkwall for good. But the question, he supposed, as they threw him into the cell and locked the door, was whether or not Anders would come with him.


	19. Chapter 19

"Thank you, Cricket," Anders said, taking the folded piece of paper from the boy's hand. "Did you eat today?"

Cricket nodded emphatically. "Varric gave us salted beef!"

Anders was torn between laughing at the enthusiastic appreciation and hating it. A boy Cricket's age should've been eating regularly, but fleeing Ferelden to get away from the Blight, losing his family and then having to scrape to survive meant that even the smallest morsel of food was a godsend. He hated the poverty they wallowed in, how it all seemed so normal, how people just accepted it. And it was getting worse.

Unable to return to his clinic for long, Anders grabbed what he could on his last trip there. He trusted no one else to find and bring him the magical mixture he'd made. The clinic was in ruins, shelves smashed, cots upturned and broken, his papers torn and scattered to the wind. They found his lyrium stash and likely took it for themselves, addicts that they were. But they either overlooked or didn't care about his personal belongings, his coat and his mother's pillow which he kept on his person now at all times.

Fenris's estate was raided not long after they'd left, a tipoff from Donnic letting them know to scatter. Varric alone seemed comfortable returning to the public eye, returning to his suite in the Hanged Man where he gathered information and passed them messages. Isabela promised to keep her ship ready at a moment's notice. And if it wasn't for the fact that Hawke was still locked up, Anders would have considered leaving. Kirkwall was no longer safe. Not that it ever was, but it was even worse now than it had been under Meredith, and the Divine's soldiers had only been in town a week.

Seekers and templars alike filled the streets, descending into Darktown and the Undercity regularly to raid for apostates, declaring them blood mages without evidence. Anders watched, helpless, as associates of his were dragged off to the Gallows and never heard from again. He'd taken to hiding in the alienage, using the twisting turns of the alleyways to hide from the authority, along with Fenris who begrudgingly took refuge on occasion in Merrill's apartment. The situation was getting dire.

He opened the note as Cricket left and read.

_No word yet on a trial. Our fiery friend is trying her best and being blocked at every turn. Hawke's going to have to stay put for a bit longer._

_Thought you should know that even though the divorce papers went through, the former Mrs. Hawke is still in the Amell estate. Don't do anything stupid, Blondie._

_I'll write you tomorrow if I have anything new._

The fireball was subtle, blackening the page, causing it to curl in the palm of his hand before he brushed the ash against his coat. So Brigitte was staying at the Amell estate even though she wasn't legally Hawke's wife anymore. When he'd first met her, he would have thought her incapable of hurting anyone. Maker, he'd even felt bad for her with the situation she was in. Now he saw her for what she was: a Chantry loyalist who had no love for justice, only her own personal vindication.

Pulling his hood up, he moved out of the small alcove down the dark and dirty alley, dropping a handful of coppers into the tin of an old blind elven man. He could still eat, could still afford to offer his healing magic though he was more careful now than he had been in the clinic. There was a price on his head, Varric said, though he wouldn't say how much. He wasn't deluded enough to think that he was worth much though. But even a few silvers were more than what most of the elves in the alienage had ever seen in their lives, and he wouldn't blame them if they turned him in. No, money wasn't what he needed. What he needed was time.

He climbed the crumbling steps and pushed open one of the blood red iron doors which were so prevalent in Kirkwall's Lowtown. His first month in the city, he'd gotten lost countless times due to the fact that everything looked the same. And it was no different in the alienage. He ducked as he passed the marketplace stalls which were closing for the night. Tall for a human meant towering over elves, and he hated to draw so much attention to himself. Seekers and templars hadn't yet taken to patrolling the alienage without just cause though, but it was only a matter of time before they swarmed the dirty alleys here just like the rest of the city.

He rapped his knuckles on Merrill's door and waited. There was a scuffling inside and she opened it, half her face just visible through the crack. With a sigh of relief she opened it further, allowing him to slip in before she shut and locked it. He lowered his hood.

"It's just Anders."

Fenris emerged from the side room, greatsword in hand, scowling. "Mage. What are you doing here?"

"Thanks for your concern," Anders said offhandedly. "I need your help. I think I know a way we can get Hawke out of prison."

"It's your fault he's there in the first place."

"Fenris, that's not fair," Merrill said, stepping between them. She was shorter than both of them and slimmer, but the concern on her face was what quelled Anders' anger. "Anders didn't bring the Seekers to Kirkwall."

Fenris scoffed. "State your plan quickly."

Anders took a breath, reminding himself that he wasn't the only one under a lot of stress. Just the idea that he had to share a roof with a blood mage likely set Fenris on edge. In addition to being wanted by the City Guard and the Seekers, it was probably reminiscent of his time on the run from Tevinter.

"Brigitte is staying at Hawke's estate. If she has the influence to bring the wrath of the Divine to the streets of Kirkwall, she has the influence to get Hawke out."

"And how do you expect to convince her of that?" Fenris asked, sheathing his sword, crossing his arms dubiously.

_Threaten her_ , was the simple answer. He had nothing with which to bribe her. He had nothing she wanted nor needed. But he could threaten her, even if it was just a bluff.

"I thought I'd ask her politely," Anders said, gritting his teeth.

"Do you think she'll listen?" Merrill asked, wide-eyed and innocent as ever. "I mean, she must have loved Hawke. They were married after all."

Fenris swore, turning on his heel and stomping back into the room adjacent. Anders sidestepped Merrill and followed him.

"And if she says no?" Fenris asked, not turning around. His gripped the back of a chair, shoulders hunched. "Why do you need my help?"

Anders frowned, fists clenched. He couldn’t ask Varric, though he was sure Varric could drum up enough Coterie for help with the intimidation factor. He couldn't ask Aveline, she was too close to the guard. Isabela was more scarce than not, her ship docked some miles up the coast just in case. Merrill was about as intimidating as a baby nug. And whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not, Fenris was capable both of fighting should Brigitte sound an alarm, and he was a good friend to Hawke.

"We'll just have to convince her," Anders said finally. "I don't want to risk going alone. Please," he added through gritted teeth.

The silence stretched over several minutes until finally Fenris turned, eyes narrowed as he glared at Anders. He nodded, resolute.

"When do we leave?"


	20. Chapter 20

Anders watched with a bit of vindictive pleasure as Brigitte's eyes opened wide with shock. Fenris's hand was just barely visible in the darkness, covering her mouth and keeping her pinned to the bed as they looked down at her. He couldn't keep the sneer from his lips as he thought about this woman who'd hurt Hawke. All because she was jealous, upset. He had half a mind to let Justice have his way with her, but that was not what this was about, and Fenris only agreed to help because he was Hawke's friend and angry on his behalf. He doubted the elf would appreciate it if Justice appeared now.

"Do you see what you've done?" Anders whispered in dark. He flexed his fingers before lifting a hand, letting a dull white light fill his palm. In the flickering shadows, he watched her blink, terrified.

Fenris scowled, stepping back from the bed and the magic. Brigitte scrambled up, pulling the blanket to her chest. Hawke's blanket. And how it incensed Anders that she was living here in the place he'd called home with Hawke. Sleeping in _their_ bed. He knew he had no more claim on Hawke. That wasn't what this was about. He would gladly give Hawke up to see him safe. 

Brigitte looked anxiously from Anders then to Fenris, as if to plead with him for her life. "What do you want?" she asked, her accent thick with fear.

"I want you to use whatever influence you have to get Hawke out of prison," Anders replied, keeping his voice even. He was livid, Justice scratching at the surface, slamming against the figurative wall of consciousness he'd built up to keep the spirit at bay. It would be so easy to kill her, so easy to justify taking her life. But he wouldn't stoop to that level.

"I have no influence!"

"Bullshit," Anders snarled, stepping close, causing her to flinch and turn away. "You brought the Seekers here when your templars got involved. You are the cause of this. You and Vael."

"Mage-"

"Shut up, Fenris."

Fenris's scowl was just visible on the edge of light and he took a step back further into shadow. Anders didn't care. He didn't give a whit about the elf's friendship with Sebastian. After all, what was Sebastian's response to all this? To hide in the Chantry and pray with the rest of them. To sit and wait to see what the Maker would do while the citizens of Kirkwall hid and trembled in fear as soldiers declared martial law. And for what Sebastian did to Hawke, whatever role he played in bringing down the wrath of the Divine upon Kirkwall, Anders would see him pay. But first he needed Hawke out of prison, and he couldn't do it alone.

"Stake your claim as his wife if you must, but get him out. At any cost. Or we will have vengeance. Do you understand?"

The light in the room increased, and Anders saw his flesh splinter, blue light of the Fade spirit flickering violently before disappearing. Brigitte cried out in alarm and fell out of the bed, hurrying to back away from Anders, though the danger had passed. She looked again to Fenris, who simply turned away from her. Anders took a step around the bed and stopped when she nodded frantically.

"Yes! Yes, for Andraste's sake, yes, I understand!" A string of Orlesian spilled from her lips and Anders caught a few pleas.

"Good." He turned on his heel, extinguishing the light and hurried from the bedroom he used to share with Hawke, Fenris following quickly.

"There were other ways of handling that," Fenris snapped.

Anders led the way through the cellar to Darktown, waiting until Fenris was out before covering the entrance up. There was no telling when he would need to use it again, especially if Brigitte didn't follow through. He wasn't sure how much of the threats were idle or what he would do if she didn't do as she agreed. For all the fighting he'd done, he'd only ever hurt anyone in self-defense. Raiders, bandits, templars. His jaw clenched involuntarily as they passed what used to be his clinic. He was born a spirit healer, able to converse with those in the Fade, to call upon their assistance to _heal_ people, not hurt them.

"There might have been," Anders said quietly as they passed through Darktown, their hoods drawn low over their eyes. There was no telling if there was a bounty out on Fenris, but Anders was a wanted man, and it was no secret that a lyrium-tattooed elf was amongst Hawke's closest friends. "But that was how I chose to handle it. If you don't like it, Fenris, there is nothing keeping you here."

He didn't know how much of that was a lie. It wasn't as if Fenris had anywhere else to go, and Hawke was his friend. Of course, Fenris could also run to Sebastian, seek sanctuary with him. He could sell Anders out, tell the Chantry that he was hiding among the elves. But he didn't. He'd chosen to stay with them. And Anders stopped, realizing he needed Fenris as an ally, at least for one more thing.

"Would you appeal to the Grand Cleric?"

"What?" Fenris asked, whirling to look at him.

"The Grand Cleric. If Brigitte does nothing. Or even if she does. Having the Grand Cleric's word would be influential in getting Hawke out of prison. Would you talk to her? Tonight? For Hawke?"

Fenris pulled his cloak more tightly around himself, stepping into the shadows as a man hurried past them, keeping his head down. He hadn't stopped to look up at either Anders or Fenris, and was muttering to himself about the price of cheese.

"Why?"

"Because you have influence in the Chantry. You can talk to Sebastian."

Anders could see that Fenris was aware of his manipulation. There was no telling that Sebastian wouldn't throw Fenris to the Seekers, citing him as a person of interest in the disappearance of Anders from the Gallows that night. He was a friend of Hawke's, it was known through the city. And after the raid on the dilapidated mansion, it was decided that he would go into hiding as well. To appear in the Chantry now might be tantamount to announcing that he was ready to give up, to be taken to jail as a conspirator. But Anders needed the distraction, the heavy mixture weighing on more than just his belt pouch.

"I will. But only because I believe Sebastian will see the error of what he's done. Hawke was a friend to him as well."

Anders highly doubted that Sebastian would ever admit to any wrongdoing. He probably believed this was all the Maker's will. But Fenris had agreed, and that was enough. Had they been friends, Anders might have heeded the inkling of guilt he felt at using him. But, he rationalized, while they might be able to free Hawke from prison, the city belonged to the Divine's soldiers now. The Chantry would never see reason, they would never see justice unless they were forced to. And Anders would make them see.


	21. Chapter 21

It was impossible to get close to Hawke. The crowd around him was thick with nobles, people congratulating him on his bravery. Around the square, Seekers and templars alike with their hands on their swords kept a wary eye, no doubt looking for Anders. He stood on the third floor of the Amell estate, a large storage area that had been cleaned out years ago with nothing but a layer of dust left behind. He pushed aside the curtain to watch, daring to open the small window so he could hear the crowd. Dusk, the sun hanging low over the horizon, cast shadows below.

"Thank you all for your support," Hawke was saying, the wind carrying his voice so that Anders could just make it out. "It was all just a misunderstanding. Really, I'm quite tired."

Anders shut the window, eyes narrowed as he watched Brigitte standing at Hawke's side, acting the dutiful wife. She took his arm, and Anders thought he saw Hawke flinch. But he was too far away to tell. Perhaps he was projecting his own desires upon Hawke. And what would he say to him? He'd debated not even coming to the estate, already knowing what Brigitte's reaction upon seeing him would be. Hawke, at least, would not let her call for the guard. He rescued him from the Gallows after all, what would be the point in throwing him back? But that didn't mean that Hawke still wanted him.

He watched the crowd disperse, saw Hawke disappear under the overhang of the front door. In the distance he heard it shut, heard Bodahn greet Hawke cheerfully. Taking a breath, he stepped away from the window and flicked the curtain shut. Whatever Hawke's decision, he would respect it. At the very least he knew he had an ally in him, someone who wouldn't turn him into the templars. But he didn't dare hope for anything more no matter what Varric said.

He could hear Varric now, talking with Hawke, laughing in hushed tones as Hawke joked about his incarceration, as if it was nothing more than a holiday he'd taken. And as he rounded the corner carefully, he saw the three of them alone, not a templar in sight. Not that Anders thought Hawke would allow them into his home. Brigitte was standing a bit to the side, fingers wrapped around her Andraste pendant looking pensive. Her eyes slid from Hawke to Anders, and she made a noise of discontent.

Hawke looked up, the smile fading from his face as he cut off mid-sentence in his conversation with Varric. Anders' chest constricted and he forgot how to breathe. Everything came to a halt and he could hear the sound of his own heartbeat. A surreal feeling overcame him, as if he were merely dreaming. If this was a trick of the Fade. And then the feeling cracked and splintered and fell apart and he was in Hawke's arms, as if the last few weeks had never happened. Hawke's lips pressed against his own and he surrendered gratefully, the tension, the fear, the unease ebbing away in that kiss.

A polite but loud clearing of the throat forced them apart. Varric had an eyebrow raised, and Anders smiled apologetically. But it faded as his gaze slid from his friend to Brigitte, her eyes full of angry tears. Part of him wanted to push Hawke behind him, to shelter him from this woman who'd come into their lives and threatened everything. But Hawke was there first, slipping his hand into Anders' and stepping forward.

"You'll leave," Hawke said, his tone flat and gravelly. "I was willing to listen. To help you in any way."

"Help me?!" she shouted. "Help! You think that leaving me, tossing me out, shipping me back to Orlais like some type of furniture is help! You are not the Garrett Hawke that I married. He would never, ever treat someone he loved like-"

Anders shut his eyes, turning away as she continued. His heart thudded against his ribcage as her voice grew louder. This woman, this woman who somehow displaced Meredith but managed to bring an even greater agony to the mages of the Circle, presumed to lecture Hawke of all people on love. A loud knocking on the door broke him from his thoughts. Brigitte hurried to the door even as Hawke followed, shouting at her to stop. Varric had Bianca in hand, and Anders quickly ducked into the corner, out of the line of sight of the front door.

"He is here!" he heard Brigitte call out.

"Get out of my house!" That from Hawke.

"You know we have to-"

Sebastian. Anders' anger rose and he took his staff in hand, trying to stay calm. The clanking of plate metal indicated either Seekers or templars, but he knew there was no turning back now, there was no running. He held his hand out in front of him, cracks of blue light peppering his skin. He felt as if his blood were boiling, Justice so close to the surface now, like a mad dog pulling at its chain. And Anders, the master who would unleash him.

Sebastian, followed by a company of templars gained the room. Varric stepped back, wide-eyed and looking at Hawke for direction. Hawke moved at once in front of Anders, drawing the attention of the room toward him. Brigitte, Anders noticed, stepped to Sebastian's side, one delicate hand upon his arm. Anders recognized the Starkhaven Longbow on his back, the bow that Hawke had rescued from a Flint Company mercenary and returned to him. How could he stand there in his hypocrisy? How could he call himself a friend of Hawke's and then hurt him in such a way?

But then, Anders reasoned, he too was about to break Hawke's heart.

"We're taking the apostate Anders into custody," one of the templars said, taking a step forward.

Hawke squared his shoulders. He was unarmed, but the look on his face gave the templars pause. "Like hell you are," he snarled.

"Hawke, be reasonable," Sebastian implored.

"Fine. I'll be reasonable," Hawke snapped. "You and Brigitte orchestrated all of this. She manipulated you and you can't even see it. You honestly think she cares one whit about you? What did you think, Sebastian, that you two would put me and Anders in chains and then marry? Though," he added bitterly, "I suppose that's her next plan. Princess of Starkhaven. Is that what you've turned into, Brigitte? Step on anyone who gets in your way? You said I'm not the Garrett Hawke you remember. Well," he snorted. "You're nothing like the woman I married. Good riddance."

She lowered her eyes, her hand falling from Sebastian's arm. Sebastian's jaw set in anger, his expression unfathomable. Anders didn't know and didn't care if Sebastian had feelings for her; he didn't care if she manipulated him or whose fault it was. All he cared about was finishing his work. Finishing Justice's work. The spirit fairly purred inside his chest and he knocked his staff against the ground, and he felt his control slipping.

"It is too late to stop it now," he said, his voice sounding foreign to his ears.

"Anders, what-" Hawke turned, the look on his face changing from anger to concern as he saw not Anders, but Justice.

"Abomination!" one of the templars cried, throwing a silence. 

Brigitte screamed, and Sebastian pulled her back, shielding her body from the impending fray.

The silence had no effect on Justice, who merely sneered. "Pathetic templar. Your techniques will not work on me."

"Anders!"

Justice's eyes slid to Hawke, and he smiled sadly. "I regret. But it is Anders' regret. He never wished to hurt you."

He lifted his hand, glowing with the whitish blue of his being, and cupped Hawke's cheek. Hawke to his credit didn't flinch, but gaped. The templars behind him seemed to hesitate at this display of affection, unsure as how to classify Justice. He was unlike any demon abomination they'd ever seen.

"We must do this," Justice rumbled. "The mages **must** be free."

He raised Anders' staff in both his hands, a silver shield encompassing the room. Very close, a rumbling began. Seconds later, a shockwave of power rocked the estate like an earthquake as they were knocked from their feet. Hawke and Justice alone remained standing, the former gripping instinctively to the Fade spirit, whose mouth was set in a thin line. The room filled with an unnatural reddish light, and around them bits of stone and mortar shook and fell from the ceiling and walls. For a moment all was silent, then the screams of Kirkwall's citizens filled the air.

"Justice," Hawke croaked. "What did you do?"


	22. Epilogue

What followed were the most surreal moments of Hawke's life. Later, he would remember taking up a templar's sword and shield, just one of many who fell to Justice's righteous anger. He couldn't say why he stopped Justice from hurting Sebastian, perhaps out of some misguided sense of lost friendship. The next few hours were little more than a blur of memory as they fled Hightown, templars and Seekers and guardsmen swarming the smoke-filled streets. The ash clouded his vision and coated his throat, but it didn't seem to affect Justice, who cut through the soldiers as if they were no more than tissue paper. He remembered hollering at him to stop, begging and pleading.

But Justice wouldn't listen. Hawke, unwilling to let Anders from his sight, followed desperately. He'd lost Varric along the way, didn't know what happened to Sebastian or Brigitte, though they were alive when he left them, chasing after Justice who tore through the broken city down to the Gallows. What occurred then was a culmination of years of oppression. The raw power from Justice emboldened the mages and cowed the templars. There was nowhere for any of them to run, and many bodies littered the Gallows courtyard after, the beige stones red and slick with blood.

He found Bethany kneeling by the lifeless form of First Enchanter Orsino, trying to breathe life into the dead man, finding it futile. He pulled his sister from the wreckage, cutting a path out for them, calling for Anders. Justice, at the helm of a handful of mages who saw him as their savior, those who hadn't run or died, led them out. The city was pandemonium as they ran through Lowtown. Hawke nearly took Varric off his feet halfway to the gates of the city. A quick goodbye was all they could manage, Hawke promising he'd send word when they were safe.

Isabela, who'd seen the explosion from her ship a ways down the coast, was ready to go. Her crew blanched at Justice, at the dozen or so mages that climbed aboard, but they said nothing. Soon enough they were underway, heading quickly down the coast when Hawke found a moment to breathe, clutching a stitch in his side. He collapsed against a crate, blood-splattered sword and shield clattering next to him.

Gone. It was all gone. Everything he'd worked for in Kirkwall, the reputation he'd built up, the favors he'd earned, and most undoubtedly several friendships. Merrill would catch up with them, or Isabela would return for her. Varric had too many ties in the city to sever them. Aveline… she probably hated him now, how she would have to deal with the fallout. And Fenris. Would the elf have come? Was he safe? Hawke wondered if he would ever know.

A figure knelt in front of him and he looked up. It was Anders' face, but the tell-tale blue glow of Justice shone in his eyes. Hawke, breathing hard, opened his mouth to speak. He was cut off by a kiss, and returned it instinctively, unthinkingly. Anders pulled back suddenly and Hawke saw the soft honey amber color, filled with uncertainty.

"Hawke," he choked.

Hawke shook his head to try to clear it. "Anders."

"Hawke, I…"

Tears filled his eyes, and Hawke drew him close into an embrace. Anders clutched his tunic, face pressed against his shoulder as Kirkwall became a dot in the distance. Hawke gently stroked his lover's back, exhausted and unsure.

Finally, he spoke.

"We'll figure something out, Anders. I promise."

Anders looked at him, the whispered words filling them both with relief. "I'm sorry I walked out," he said quietly. "I'm sorry for everything."

Hawke cupped his face, kissing him chastely before letting his thumbs brush along his cheekbones. "I don't know what's going to happen next. But I love you. For good or ill, we'll face whatever comes together."

He wasn't sure what the future held, and it would be a long time before he would forget this day. The only thing he was sure of in this moment, was that he never wanted to lose Anders, no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone who commented and left kudos. It's really, really appreciated. I'm glad you enjoyed yourselves with this one. It wasn't supposed to have been more than 10k words when I originally decided on the plot, but then it mutated and grew legs and ran away.
> 
> I'll try to update with little one shots here and there and drabbles, but I'll be concentrating primarily on my larger tale that I started back in April. Feel free to drop me an email if you want a bit of a preview, or just to chat or whatever. Love talking to you guys. ^_^


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